Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L  I 


?A 

3kOC 

AU6 


This  book   is   DUE  on   the   last  date  stamped   below 


4<& 


i  JUL  ^ 


J/ 


S  1981  \ 


JUL  2  0  193* 

m 

Urn  4    1940 

IJAN  5 


APR  2  3 1962 


Form  L-9-15m-8'24 


, 


6 


STATE  KOitMAi.  MnuuL, 
Los  Angete,  CaJ. 


Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

Ancient  Classics  for  English  Readers 

EDITED   BY  THE 

REV.  W.  LUCAS  COLLINS,  M.A. 


LUCIAN 


CONTENTS    OF    THE    SERIES. 


HOMER  :  THE   ILIAD, 

HOMER:  THE  ODYSSEY, 

HERODOTUS, 
C/ESAR,  . 

VIRGIL, 

HORACE, 

^ESCHYLUS,      By 

XENOPHON, 

CICERO, 

SOPHOCLES, 

PLINY,  By  A. 

EURIPIDES. 

JUVENAL,      . 

ARISTOPHANES, 


...       By  the  Editor. 

By  the  Same. 

By  George  C.  Swayne,  M.A. 

...         By  Anthony  Trollope. 

By  the  Editor. 

.    By  Theodore  Martin. 

the  Right  Rev.  the  Bishop  of  Colombo. 

.    By  Sir  Alex.  Grant,  Bart.,  LL.D. 

By  the  Editor. 

By  Clifton  W.  Collins,  M.A. 
Church,  M.A.,  and  W.  J.  Brodribb,  M.A. 
By  William  Bodham  Donne. 
By  Edward  Walford,  M.A. 
By  the  Editor. 
HESIOD  AND  THEOGNIS,  By  the  Rev.  James  Davies,  M.A. 
PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.      ...        By  the  Editor. 

TACITUS By  William  Bodham  Donne. 

LUCIAN By  the  Editor. 

PLATO, By  Clifton  W.  Collins. 

THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY,     ...    By  Lord  Neaves. 

LIVY By  the  Editor. 

OVID By  the  Rev.  A.  Church,  M.A. 

CATULLUS,  TIBULLUS,  &  PROPERTIUS,  ByJ.  Davies,  M.A. 
DEMOSTHENES,  .  .  By  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Brodribb,  M.A. 
ARISTOTLE,  ...    By  Sir  Alex.  Grant,  Bart.,  LL.D. 

THUCYDIDES By  the  Editor. 

LUCRETIUS By  W.  H.  Mallock,  M.A. 

PINDAR,         ...        By  the  Rev.  F.  D.  Morice,  M.A. 


LTTCIAN 


BY  THE 

REV.    VV.    LUCAS   COLLINS,   M.A. 

AUTHOR   OF 
'ETONIAN A,'    *THK  PUBLIC   SCHOOLS,'  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO, 

1875. 


A  t,  L^ 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.        I.   BIOGRAPHICAL,  .... 

"  H.   LUCIAN   AND   THE    PAGAN   OLYMPUS, 

"  III.    DIALOGUES   OP   THE   DEAD, 

"  IV.    LUCIAN   AND   THE    PHILOSOPHERS, 

"  V.   SATIRES  ON   SOCIETV,  .  . 

"  VI.   LUCIAN  AS  A   ROMANCE-WRITER, 

"  VII.  LUCIAN  AND  CHRISTIANITY,         • 


Page 
1 

12 

50 

83 

138 

158 

167 


L   U   0   I   A  K 


CHAPTEE    I. 


BIOGRAPHICAL. 


Lucian  (Lucianus,  or  Lychnis,  as  he  sometimes  calls 
himself)  was  born  about  a.d.  120,  or  perhaps  a  few 
years  later,  at  Samosata,  on  the  bank  of  the  Euphrates, 
at  that  time  the  capital  city  of  Commagene,  and  per- 
haps better  known  a  century  later  from  its  heresiarch 
bishop,  Paul.  What  we  know  of  our  author's  life 
is  chiefly  gathered  from  incidental  notices  scattered 
through  his  numerous  writings.  Of  his  youthful 
days  he  has  given  what  is  probably  a  truthful  account 
in  a  piece  which  he  has  entitled  "  The  Dream."  This 
appears  to  have  been  written  in  his  successful  later 
years  (when  men  are  most  disposed  to  be  open  and 
honest  about  their  early  antecedents),  and  recited  as 
a  kind  of  prologue  to  his  public  readings  of  his  works, 
before  his  fellow-citizens  of  Samosata.  He  tells  us  that 
his  parents,  who  seem  to  have  been  in  humble  circum- 
stances, held  a  council  of  the  friends  of  the  family  to 
consult  what  should  be  done  Avith  their  boy.  They 
a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  a 


2  L  UCIA  N. 

came  to  the  conclusion  that  a  liberal  education  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  because  of  the  expense.  The  next 
best  thing,  for  a  lad  who  had  already  no  doubt  given 
token  of  some  ability,  was  to  choose  some  calling 
which  should  af.ill  Vc  of  an  LiteUeotua.'  rather  than  a 
servile  character.  This  is  his  own  account  of  what 
took  place  in  the  family  council : — ■ 

"When  one  proposed  one  thing  and  one  another, 
according  to  their  fancies  or  experience,  my  father 
turned  to  my  maternal  uncle  —  he  was  one  of  the 
party,  and  passed  for  an  excellent  carver  of  Mer- 
curies * — '  It  is  impossible,'  said  he,  politely,  '  in  your 
presence,  to  give  any  other  art  the  preference.  So  take 
this  lad  home  with  you,  and  teach  him  to  be  a  good 
stone-cutter  and  statuary  :  for  he  has  it  in  him,  and 
is  clever  enough,  as  you  know,  with  his  hands.'  He 
had  formed  this  notion  from  the  way  in  which  I  used 
to  amuse  myself  in  moulding  wax.  As  soon  as  I  left 
school,  I  used  to  scrape  wax  together,  and  make  figures 
of  oxen  and  horses,  and  men  too,  with  some  cleverness, 
as  my  father  thought.  This  accomplishment  had 
earned  me  many  a  beating  from  my  schoolmasters ; 
but  at  this  moment  it  was  praised  as  a  sign  of  natural 
talent,  and  sanguine  hopes  were  entertained  th.it  I 
should  speedily  become  master  of  my  new  profession, 
from  this  early  plastic  fancy.  So,  on  a  day  which  was 
counted  lucky  for  entering  on  my  apprenticeship,  to 

*  The  figures  of  Mercury  so  commonly  set  up  in  the  streets 
and  at  the  gates  of  houses  were  mere  busts  without  arms,  and 
could  not  have  required  any  very  great  amount  of  art  in  their 
production. 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  3 

my  uncle  I  was  sent.  I  did  not  at  all  object  to  it  my- 
self :  I  thought  I  should  find  the  work  amusing  enough, 
and  be  very  proud  when  I  could  show  my  playmates 
how  I  could  make  gods,  and  cut  out  other  little  figures 
for  myself  and  my  special  friends.  But  an  accident 
happened  to  me,  as  is  not  uncommon  Avith  beginners. 
My  uncle  put  a  chisel  in  my  hand,  and  hid  me  work 
it  lightly  over  a  slab  of  marble  that  lay  in  the  shop, 
quoting  at  the  same  time  the  common  proverb,  '  Well 
begun  is  half  done.'  But,  leaning  too  hard  upon  it,  in 
my  awkwardness,  the  slab  hroke ;  and  my  uncle,  seiz- 
ing a  whip  that  lay  at  hand,  made  me  pay  my  footing 
in  no  very  gentle  or  encouraging  fashion  ;  so  the  first 
wages  I  earned  were  tears." 

"  I  ran  off  straight  home,  sobbing  and  howling, 
with  the  tears  running  down  my  cheeks.  I  told  them 
there  all  about  the  whip,  and  showed  the  wheals  ;  and 
with  loud  complaints  of  my  uncle's  cruelty,  I  added 
that  he  had  done  it  all  out  of  envy, — because  he  was 
afraid  I  should  soon  make  a  better  artist  than  himself. 
My  mother  was  extremely  indignant,  and  vented  bitter 
reproaches  against  her  brother."  * 

Of  course,  with  the  mother  in  such  mood,  we  readily 
understand  that  young  Lucian  never  Avent  back  to  the 
shop.  "  I  went  to  sleep,"  he  says,  "  with  my  eyes  full 
of  tears,  and  that  very  night  I  had  a  dream."  This 
dream,  which  the  author  goes  on  to  relate,  is  a  repro- 
duction, adapted  to  suit  the  circumstances,  of  the  well- 
known    "  Choice    of    Hercules."       How    far    Lucian 

*  "  The  Dream,"  2-4. 


4  LUC  IAN, 

actually  dreamed  it,  or  thought  he  dreamed  it,  is 
impossible  to  say.  He  was  imaginative  enough,  no 
doubt,  to  have  pictured  it  all  to  himself  in  his  sleep ; 
or  a  youth  who  had  hit  upon  so  ingenious  an  explana- 
tion of  his  uncle's  beating  him  was  equally  capable  of 
inventing  a  dream  for  the  family  edification ;  or  (and 
tins  is  the  most  likely  supposition)  the  practised 
fabulist  might  have  only  adopted  it  as  an  appo- 
site parable  for  the  audience  before  whom  he  re- 
lated it.  The  dream  was  this  :  Two  female  figures 
seemed  to  have  laid  hold  of  him  on  either  side, 
and  struggled  so  fiercely  for  the  possession  that  he  felt 
as  if  he  were  bein^  torn  in  two.  "  The  one  figure  was 
of  coarse  and  masculine  aspect,  with  rough  hair  and 
callous  hands,  with  her  robe  high-girt,  and  covered  with 
dust — very  like  my  uncle  the  stone-cutter  when  he  was 
polishing  his  work;  the  other  had  a  lovely  face  and 
graceful  bearing,  and  was  elegantly  dressed."  The 
first  is  "  Statuary,"  who  offers  him,  if  he  will  follow 
her,  an  ample  maintenance,  good  health,  and  possibly 
fame.  He  is  not  to  be  discouraged  at  her  rough  ap- 
pearance ;  such,  at  first  starting  in  life,  were  Phidias, 
Myron,  and  Praxiteles.  The  other  graceful  lady  is 
"  Liberal  Education."  She  reminds  him  that  he  had 
already  made  some  slight  acquaintance  with  her :  but 
much  is  still  wanting-  She  will  make  her  votary 
acquainted  with  all  the  noblest  things  which  the 
noblest  men  in  all  times  have  done,  and  said,  and 
written  ;  she  will  adorn  his  soul  with  temperance,  jus- 
tice, gentleness,  prudence,  and  fortitude  ;  with  the  love 
of  the  beautiful,  and  the  thirst  for  knowledge.     Nay, 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  5 

she  -will  give  him  that  which  all  men  covet — immor- 
tality. Her  rival  can  but  offer  him  the  work  and 
position  of  a  mere  labourer,  earning  his  living  by  his 
hands,  one  of  the  vulgar  herd,  obliged  to  bow  before 
his  superiors,  and  working  according  to  his  patrons' 
taste.* 

Lucian  hardly  waited,  he  says,  for  the  termination 
of  this  divine  creature's  speech,  before  he  sprang  up, 
turned  his  back  upon  her  rival,  and  threw  himself  into 
her  embraces.  "  No  doubt,"  he  slyly  observes,  "  the 
recollection  of  the  flogging  which  my  brief  acquaintance 
with  the  other  lady  had  got  me  the  day  before  contri- 
buted not  a  little  to  my  choice."  The  rejected  claim- 
ant gnashed  upon  him  savagely  with  her  teeth,  and 
then,  "stiffening  like  a  second  Niobe,"  she  was — very 
appropriately — turned  into  stone.t 

Whatever  truth  there  might  be  in  the  vision,  Lucian's 
choice  was  made.  How  he  found  the  means  for  the 
further  education  that  was  needful,  we  are  not  told; 
but  he  got  himself  trained  in  some  way  as  a  Rhetori- 
cian. That  science  was  not  only  very  popular,  but  its 
professors,  when  once  they  had  made  themselves  a 
name,  were  pretty  well  paid.  The  Emperor  Marcus 
Aurelius  was  himself  a  most  liberal  patron  of  this  as  of 
other  sciences,  and j^untaincd  public  lectures  on  juris- 
prudence, with  which  "rhetoric  was  directly  connected, 
both  at  Rome  and  in  the  provinces. 

*  Wieland  well  remarks  that  the  art  of  sculpture  must  have 
been  very  much  on  the  decline,  both  in  point  of  merit  and  repu- 
tation, to  lead  the  writer  to  speak  of  it  in  such  slighting  temis. 

+  "The  Dream,"  6-14. 


6  LUC  I  AN. 

For  some  time  after  his  education  was  completed, 
he  seems  to  have  wandered  up  and  down  Ionia,  with 
very  precarious  means  of  support,  exercising  his  profes- 
sion, among  other  places,  at  Antioch,  where  he  must 
have  come  into  contact  more  or  less  with  the  new  sect 
called  "  Christians," — with  what  result  we  shall  partly 
see  hereafter.  By  degrees  he  got  into  some  practice  as 
an  advocate  :  hut  not  meeting  with  the  success  which 
he  hoped  for  in  that  line,  he  took  to  composing  orations 
for  others  to  deliver,  and  to  giving  lectures  upon 
rhetoric  and  the  art  of  public  speaking.  In  this  latter 
capacity  he  travelled  a  good  deal,  as  was  the  custom  for 
all  professors  in  those  days,  and  delivered  his  lectures 
and  declamations  in  the  towns  of  Syria,  Greece,  Italy, 
and  Gaul.  It  was  in  the  last-named  country — always 
h  rich  harvest-field,  as  Ave  gather  from  Juvenal,*  for 
travelling  orators  and  lecturers  on  law — that  he  seems 
to  have  been  most  successful,  and  he  continued  there 
for  ten  years. 

"Whether  he  eventually  grew  tired  of  his  profession, 
as  some,  expressions  in  his  writings  would  lead  us  to 
think,  or  whether  he  had  made  enough  money  by  it  to 
enable  him  to  devote  himself  to  the  more  strictly  lite- 
rary life  to  which  his  tastes  and  abilities  alike  pointed, 
— he  gave  up  the  study  and  the  practice  of  Rhetoric  in 
about  his  fortieth  year.  He  cast  off'  his  old  mistress, 
he  says,  because  he  had  grown  tired  of  her  false 
ways  :  "  she  was  always  painting  her  face  and  tiring 
her  head,"  and  otherwise  misbehaving  herself,  and  he 

*  See  his  Satires,  vii.  175,  and  xv.  111. 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  7 

would  endure  it  no  longer.  She  had  led  him  a  very- 
unquiet  life  of  it,  he  declares,  for  some  years.  He 
makes  poor  Rhetoric,  indeed,  say  in  her  defence  in 
the  same  Dialogue,  and  with  at  least  some  degree  of 
truth,  that  she  had  taken  him  up  when  he  was  young, 
poor,  and  unknown,  had  brought  him  fame  and  repu- 
tation, and  lastly  in  Gaul  had  made  him  a  wealthy 
man.*  It  is  possible  that  the  declining  reputation 
in  which  the  science,  owing  to  the  abuses  introduced 
by  unworthy  professors,  was  beginning  to  be  held 
throughout  Greece,  may  have  been  one  great  reason 
for  his  withdrawing  from  it. 

He  delivered  his  last  lecture  on  the  subject  at 
Thessalonica, — where  he  would  again  meet  with,  or  at 
least  hear  something  of,  the  members  of  the  Christian 
Church.  Thence  he  returned  to  his  native  town  of 
Samosata,  found  his  father  still  alive  there,t  and  soon 
removed  him  and  his  whole  family  into  Greece.  He 
devoted  the  rest  of  his  life  to  the  study  of  philosophy 
and  to  his  literary  work,  living  in  good  style  at  Athens. 
It  was  here,  as  he  tells  us  himself,  that  he  got  rid  of 
his  "  barbarous  Syrian  speech,"  and  perfected  himself 
in  that  pure  Attic  diction  which  is  marvellous  in  a 
writer  who  was  virtually  a  foreigner.  For  such  Greek 
as  was  spoken  in  Syria  during  the  Empire  was,  as 
Lucian  confesses,  little  better  than  a  'patois.  To  these 
years  of  his  life  at  Athens  are  naturally  assigned  those 
Dialogues  of  his  which  have  in  them  so  much  of  the 
Aristophanic  spirit  and  manner.    There  also  he  enjoyed 

*  "  The  Double  Accusation,"  27  and  31. 
t  "Alexander,"  56. 


8  LUCIA  If. 

the  friendship  of  Demonax  of  Cyprus,  who,  if  we  may 
trust  the  character  which  his  friend  gives  of  him  in 
the  little  biographical  sketch  which  bears  his  name, 
well  deserved  to  be  called  an  eclectic  philosopher. 
His  philosophy,  combining  some  of  the  highest  tenets 
of  the  Socratic  school  with  the  contempt  of  riches  and 
luxury  affected  by  the  Cynics,  was,  says  Lucian, 
"  mild,  cheerful,  and  benevolent,"  and  he  lived  re- 
spected to  the  end  of  his  long  life,  "  setting  an  example 
of  moderation  and  wisdom  to  all  who  saw  and  heard 
him."  * 

Lucian  still  travelled  occasionally,  and  on  one  occa- 
sion paid  a  visit  to  the  reputed  oracle  of  the  arch- 
impostor  Alexander,  at  Abonoteiehos  in  Paphlagonia, 
of  which  he  gives  a  very  graphic  account.  This  man 
exercised  an  extraordinary  influence  over  the  credu- 
lity not  only  of  his  own  countrymen  but   of  strangers 

*  Lucian  gives  us  a  number  of  conversational  anecdotes  of 
Demonax, — one  of  the  tew  collections  of  classical  ana.  Perhaps 
tlie  best  is  this.  A  certain  sophist  from  Sidon,  very  fond  of 
praising  himself,  was  bonsting  that  he  understood  all  systems 
of  philosophy.  "  If  Aristotle  calls  me  to  the  Lyceum,  I  can 
follow  him  :  if  Plato  invites  me  to  the  Academy,  I  will  meet 
him  there  :  if  Zeno  to  the  Porch,  I  am  ready  :  if  Pythagoras 
calls  upon  me,  I  can  be  silent."  Rising  up  quietly  among  the 
audience — "  Hark  !"  said  Demonax,  addressing  him  —  "  Pytha- 
goras  calls  you."  There  was  evidently  something  in  common 
between  the  two  friends  in  their  views  upon  religious  questions. 
When  a  neighbour  asked  Demonax  to  accompany  him  to  the 
temple  of  iEsculapius  to  pray  for  the  recovery  of  his  son,  the 
philosopher  replied— "Do  you  suppose  that  the  god  is  deaf, 
that  he  cannot  hear  us  where  we  are?"  —  Life  of  Demonax, 
14,  27. 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  9 

also.  Lucian's  zeal  against  such  sham  pretenders  here 
brought  him  into  some  trouble,  and  went  near  to  cost 
him  his  life.  Alexander,  who  had  specially  invited 
him  to  an  audience,  held  out  his  hand,  according  to 
custom,  for  his  visitor  to  kiss ;  whereupon  Lucian,  by- 
way of  active  protest  against  an  imposture  which  he 
had  already  denounced,  bit  it  so  hard  as  actually  to 
lame  him  for  some  time.  The  Prophet  affected  to  treat 
the  thing  as  a  practical  joke,  but,  when  Lucian  was 
leaving  the  country,  gave  private  orders  to  the  captain 
and  crew  of  the  vessel  to  fling  the  malicious  unbeliever 
overboard — a  fate  Avhicli  he  only  escaped  through  the 
unusual  tenderheartedness  of  the  Asiatic  captain. 

He  seems  to  have  become  poorer  again  in  his  later 
years,  and  to  have  occasionally  taken  up  his  old  pro- 
fession. But  at  last  the  Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius 
(or,  as  Wieland  rather  thinks,  Commodus)  offered  him 
an  official  appointment  (something  like  that  of  Re- 
corder, or  Clerk  of  the  Courts)  at  Alexandria  in  Egypt. 
His  chief  duties  were,  as  he  tells  us,  to  preside 
over  the  courts  of  justice  and  to  keep  the  records.* 
He  thought  it  necessary  to  write  an  "Apology"  for 
accepting  this  position  ;  for  it  happened  that  he  had 
just  put  forth  an  essay  (which  will  come  under  notice 
hereafter)  on  the  miseries  uf  a  state  of  dependence  on 
great  men,  and  was  conscious  that  his  enemies  might 
take  occasion  to  sneer  at  so  stout  a  champion  of  inde- 
pendence thus  consenting  to  sell  himself  for  office.  He 
must  have  felt  like  Dr  Johnson  when  he  consulted 
his  friends  as  to  the  propriety  of  his  accepting  the 
*  "Apology,"  12. 


10  LUC  I  AN. 

pension  offered  by  Lord  Bute,  after  the  Litter  defini- 
tions of  the  words  "  pension  "  and  "  pensioner  "  which 
he  had  given  in  the  first  edition  of  his  Dictionary. 
The  promotion  did  not  come  until,  as  he  says,  he 
"  had  one  foot  already  in  Charon's  boat,"  for  he  must 
have  been  above  seventy  years  old  when  he  received 
it :  but  the  emoluments  were  iaiily  good  ;  he  was 
allowed  to  perform  the  office  by  deputy,  so  that  it  did 
not  interfere  with  his  busy  literary  leisure  at  Athens, 
and  he  lived  many  years  to  enjoy  it.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  a  hundred  years  old  when  he  died,  but  nothing 
certain  is  known  of  the  date  or  manner  of  his  death. 
It  has  been  conjectured  with  much  probability  that  in 
his  later  years  he  was  troubled  with  the  gout,  a  dis- 
order to  which  he  more  than  once  makes  allusion  in 
his  writings,  very  much  in  the  tone  of  one  who  spoke 
from  painful  experience  ;  and  he  has  left  two  humor- 
ous mock-tragic  dramatic  scenes  in  which  Gout  is  per- 
sonified as  the  principal  character.  The  torments  of 
which  she  is  the  author  to  mankind  are  amusingly 
exaggerated.  Philoctetes  is  made  out  to  have  been  a 
sufferer,  not  from  the  bite  of  the  snake  or  from  the 
poisoned  arrow,  but  simply  from  gout  in  his  foot 
— enough  to  account  for  any  amount  of  howls 
and  lamentations,  such  as  are  put  in  his  mouth  by 
Sophocles  ;  and  Ulysses  must  have  died  by  the  same 
enemy,  and  not,  as  was  fabled,  by  the  poisonous  spine 
of  a  sea-urchin. 


It   has   been   impossible,  in   the   compass   of  this 
volume,  even  to  notice  all  the  works  of  this  active  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  11 

versatile  writer,  a  descriptive  catalogue  of  which  would 
alone  fill  some  pages.  Nor  has  the  common  order  of 
arrangement  been  here  followed,  hut  the  Dialogues 
and  other  pieces  have  been  grouped  as  seemed  most 
convenient. 

Though  Lucian  was  always  a  popular  writer,  he  has 
not  found  many  modern  translators.  The  formid- 
able number  of  his  works  has  no  doubt  been  one 
reason  fortius.  Spence's  translation  (1C84)  is  termed 
by  Dryden  "  scandalous."  The  version  by  "  Eminent 
Hands,"  published  in  1711,  to  which  is  prefixed  a 
"  Life  "  by  Dryden,  is  very  incorrect,  though  some  of  the 
pieces  are  rendered  with  considerable  spirit.  Tooke's 
translation  (1820)  is  also  full  of  the  blunders  of 
imperfect  scholarship,  though  the  English  is  often 
racy  and  good.  Dr  Franklin's  is,  on  the  whole,  that 
which  does  most  justice  to  the  original.  But  no  Eng- 
lish translator  approaches  in  point  of  excellence  the 
admirable  German  version  by  "VVieland. 


CnAPTER   IL 

LUCTAN    AND    THE    PAGAN    OLYMPUS. 

The  best  known  and  the  most  popular  of  our  author's 
multifarious  writings  are  his  "  Dialogues,"  many  of 
which  would  form  admirable  dramatic  scenes,  contain- 
ing more  of  the  spirit  of  comedy,  as  we  moderns 
understand  it,  than  either  the  broad  burlesque  of 
Aristophanes  or  the  somewhat  sententious  and  didactic 
tone  of  Terence.  The  "  Dialogues  of  the  Gods,"  in 
which  the  old  mythological  deities  are  introduced 
to  us  as  it  were  in  undress,  discussing  their  family 
affairs  and  private  quarrels  in  the  most  familiar  style, 
were  composed  with  a  double  purpose  by  their  writer. 
He  not  only  seized  upon  the  absurd  points  in  religious 
fable  as  presenting  excellent  material  for  burlesque, 
hut  he  indulged  at  the  same  time  in  the  most  caustic 
form  of  satire  upon  the  popular  belief,  against  which, 
long  before  his  day,  the  intellect  of  even  the  heathen 
world  had  revolted.  It  is  possible  that  his  apprentice- 
ship, brief  as  it  was,  to  the  manufacture  of  stone 
Mercuries  helped  to  make  him  an  iconoclast.  The 
man  who  assists  in  the  chiselling  out  of  a  god  must 
know  more  or  less  that  he  "  has  a  lie  in  his  right 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  13 

hand."  The  unhesitating  faith  in  which  (apparently) 
he  accepts  the  truth  of  all  the  popular  legends  about 
Jupiter  and  his  court,  treating  them  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  and  earnest  way,  and  assuming  their 
literal  truth  in  every  detail,  makes  the  satire  all  the 
more  pungent.  To  have  sifted  the  heap  of  legends 
into  false  and  true,  or  to  have  explained  that  this  was 
only  a  poetical  illustration,  or  that  an  allegorical  form 
of  truth,  would  not  have  damaged  the  popular  creed 
half  so  much  as  this  representation  of  the  Olympian 
deities  under  all  the  personal  and  domestic  circum- 
stances which  followed,  as  necessary  corollaries,  from 
their  supposed  relations  to  each  other.  We  need 
not  wonder  that  the  charge  of  atheism  was  hurled 
against  him  by  all  the  defenders,  honest  or  dishonest, 
of  the  national  worship.  Many  as  had  been  the  blows 
struck  against  it  by  satirists  and  philosophers,  Lucian's 
was,  if  not  the  hardest,  the  most  deadly  of  all. 

The  Dialogue  called  "  Prometheus,"  though  it  stands 
alone,  and  is  not  classed  among  the  "  Dialogues  of  the 
Gods,"  is  quite  of  the  same  character  with  these, 
and  may  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  prologue  to  the 
series.  As  a  punishment  for  the  offence  which  he  has 
given  to  Jupiter,  Prometheus  is  being  chained  down 
upon  Mount  Caucasus,  the  idea  of  the  scene  being 
borrowed  undoubtedly  from  the  tragedy  of  -ZEschylus. 
The  executioners  of  the  punishment,  however,  in  this 
case,  are  Vulcan  and  Mercury  alone,  without  the  aid  of 
Strength  and  Force.  The  victim  protests  against  the 
cruelty  and  injustice  of  his  doom,  and  the  mean  and 


14  LUCIAN. 

petty  revenge  taken  by  Jupiter  (upon  a  deity  of  much 
older  family  than  himself,  too),  just  because  he  had  been 
outwitted  in  the  division  of  the  sacrifice  :  for  this  he 
believes  to  have  been  the  head  and  front  of  his  offend- 
ing.* What  would  be  said  of  a  mortal  who  should 
crucify  his  cook  for  tasting  the  soup,  or  cutting  a  bit 
off  the  roast  ?  As  for  his  creation  of  men, — the  gods 
ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  him  :  for  where 
would  be  their  temples,  their  honours  and  their  sacri- 
fices, if  the  earth  had  remained  untenanted  1  Even  the 
beauty  of  the  universe  would  have  had  no  admirers.t 
If  it  be  said  that  these  same  mortals  are  wicked, — 
murderers,  adulterers,  and  so  forth,  —  the  gods  had 
better  hold  their  tongues  on  that  point,  considering 
the  examples  set  by  themselves.  Then,  as  to  his  gift 
of  fire  to  men — it  is  mere  envy  in  Jupiter  to  grudge 
it  them ;  and  gods  ought  surely  to  be  widely  benefi- 
cent, not  envious  and  selfish.  And,  if  the  gods  do  not 
like  to  see  fire  used  upon  earth,  at  least  they  seem 
very  much  delighted  with  the  smoke,  when  it  comes 
up  to  them  in  the  shape  of  incense.  Mercury  admits 
that  his  defence  is,  to  say  the  least,  very  clever  \  but, 

*  Prometheus  had  cut  up  a  victim,  and  divided  the  portions 
into  two  he:tps,  of  which  he  gave  Jupiter  his  choice.  Jupiter 
chose  that  which  seemed  to  have  the  best  share  of  fat  at  the 
top,  hut  found  that  beneath  there  was  nothing  but  bones. 

+  "  '  What  use  could  the  Deity  have  for  man,'  said  Epicurus, 
'  that  He  should  create  him  ?'  Surely,  that  there  might  be  a 
being  that  could  understand  His  works;  that  could  have  sense 
to  admire  and  voice  to  proclaim  His  providence  in  arrange- 
ment, His  plan  of  operation,  His  perfection  in  completing  all." 
■ — Lactantius,  Div.  Instit,  b.  vii.  c.  5. 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  15 

he  remarks,  "  you  may  think  yourself  very  fortunate 
that  Jupiter  does  not  hear  what  you  say,  for  he  would 
surely  send  down  a  hundred  vultures  upon  you  instead 
of  one." 

The  change  of  dynasty  in  heaven  presents  of  course 
a  salient  point,  here  and  elsewhere,  to  the  satirist.  He 
makes  Prometheus  in  his  agony  appeal  to  the  ancient 
deities, — Saturn,  Jupiter,  and  Earth, — not  recognising 
any  of  the  new  introductions.  In  this,  too,  he  has 
followed  yEschylus,  who  makes  the  great  Titan  call 
upon  Earth  and  Sea  and  Air,  to  witness  his  treatment 
at  the  hands  of  a  usurper. 

Some  of  the  shorter  and  more  amusing  of  these 
"  Dialogues  of  the  Gods  "  are  here  given  entire,  and 
are  a  fair  specimen  of  the  humour  of  the  rest. 

JUPITER  AND   CUPID. 

Cupid.  Well,  even  if  I  have  done  wrong,  pray  for- 
give me,  Jupiter;  I  am  only  a  child,  you  see,  and  don't 
know  any  better. 

Jupiter.  Child,  indeed,  Master  Cupid !  you  who  are 
older  than  Iapetus !  Because  you  don't  happen  to  have 
grown  a  beard  yet,  and  because  your  hair  isn't  grey, 
you  are  to  be  considered  a  child,  I  suppose — old  and 
crafty  as  you  are. 

Cup.  Why,  what  great  harm  have  I  done  you — 
old  as  you  say  I  am — that  you  should  think  of  putting 
me  in  the  stocks'? 

Jup.  Look  here,  then,  you  mischievous  imp  !  is  this 
a  trifle — the  way  in  which  you  have  disgraced  me? 


16  LVCIAN. 

There  is  nothing  you  have  not  turned  me  into — satyr, 
bull,  gold  pieces,  swan,  eagle ;  but  you  never  yet  have 
made  a  single  woman  fall  in  love  with  me  for  myself, 
nor  have  I  ever  been  able  to  make  myself  agreeable 
in  any  quarter  in  my  own  person,  but  I  have  to  use 
magic  in  all  such  affairs,  and  disguise  myself.  And 
after  all,  it's  the  bull  or  the  swan  they  fall  in  love 
with  ;  if  they  see  me,  they  die  of  terror. 

Cap.  Yes,  no  wonder;  they  are  but  mortal,  you 
know,  Jupiter,  and  can't  endure  your  awful  person. 

J  a  p.  How  is  it,  then,  that  Apollo  gets  them  to 
fall  in  love  with  him  % 

Cap.  Well — Daphne,  you  know,  ran  away  from 
him,  for  all  his  flowing  locks  and  smooth  face.  But  if 
you  want  to  make  yourself  attractive,  you  mustn't  shake 
your  aegis,  and  carry  your  thunderbolt  about  with  you, 
but  make  yourself  look  as  pleasant  as  you  can, — let 
your  hair  hang  down  on  both  sides  of  your  face  in 
curls, — put  a  fillet  round  it, — get  a  purple  dress, — put 
on  gdded  sandals, — walk  with  the  fashionable  step, 
with  a  pipe  and  timbrel  before  you :  you'll  see,  the 
women  will  run  after  you  then,  faster  than  the 
Moenads  do  after  Bacchus. 

Jup.  Away  with  you — I  couldn't  condescend  to 
be  attractive  by  making  myself  such  a  fool  as  that. 

Cap.  Very  well,  Jupiter,  then  give  up  love-making 
altogether ;  [looking  slyly  at  him) — that's  easy  enough, 
you  know. 

Jap.  Nay,  I  must  go  on  with  my  courting,  but  you 
must  find  me  some  less  troublesome  fashion  than  that. 
And  upon  tins  sole  condition,  I  let  you  off  once  more. 


TEE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  17 

VULCAN  AND  APOLLO. 

Vulcan.  I  say,  Apollo — have  you  seen  this  young 
bantling  that  Maia  has  just  produced  1  What  a  line 
child  it  is  ! — smiles  at  everybody,  and  gives  plain  token 
already  that  it  will  turn  out  something  wonderful — 
quite  a  blessing  to  us  all. 

Apollo.  A  blessing,  you  think,  eh,  Vulcan  1  that 
child — who  is  older,  in  point  of  wickedness,  than  old 
father  Iapetus  himself! 

Vul.  Why,  what  harm  can  a  baby  like  that  do 
to  anybody  ? 

Ap.  Just  ask  Neptune, — he  stole  his  trident.  Or 
ask  Mars, — the  brat  slipped  his  sword  out  of  its  sheath 
as  quickly  as  you  please  ;  to  say  nothing  of  myself,  and 
he  has  gone  off  with  my  bow  and  arrows. 

Vul.  What !  that  infant  1  who  can  hardly  stand  ] 
the  one  in  the  cradle  there  1 

Ap.  You'll  soon  find  out  for  yourself,  Vulcan,  if  he 
pays  you  a  visit. 

Vul.  Why,  he  has  paid  me  a  visit,  just  now. 

Ap.  Well,  have  you  got  all  your  tools  safe?  none 
of  them  missing,  is  there  1 

Vul.  (looking  round).  No  —  they  are  all  right, 
Apollo. 

Ap.  Nay,  look  carefully. 

Vul.  By  Jove  !  I  can't  see  my  anvil ! 

Ap.  You'll  find  it  somewhere  in  his  cradle,  I'll  be 
bound. 

Vul.  Why,  he's  as  handy  with  his  fingers  as  if  ho 
had  studied  thieving  before  he  was  horn  ! 

a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  B 


18  LUCIAN. 

Ap.  Ah  !  you  haven't  heard  him  yet  talking,  as  pert 
and  as  glib  as  may  he.  Why,  he  wants  to  run  errands 
for  us  all !  Yesterday,  he  challenged  Cupid  to  wrestle 
with  him,  and  tripped  up  both  his  legs  in  some  way, 
and  threw  him  in  a  second.  Then,  when  we  were  all 
applauding  him,  and  Venus  was  hugging  him  after  his 
victory,  he  stole  her  cestus  ;  and  while  Jupiter  was 
laughing  at  that,  he  was  off  with  his  majesty's  sceptre. 
Ay,  and  if  the  thunderbolt  did  not  happen  to  be 
heavy,  and  considerably  hot  withal,  he  would  have 
stolen  that  too. 

Vul.  You  make  the  child  out  to  be  a  prodigy. 

Ap.  Not  only  that — he  knows  music  already. 

Vul.  How  did  he  find  that  out? 

Ap.  He  got  hold  of  a  dead  tortoise  somewhere,  and 
made  its  shell  into  an  instrument  :  fitted  it  with  pins, 
and  put  a  bridge  to  it,  and  stretched  seven  strings 
across  it.  Then  he  sang  to  it, — something  really  quite 
pretty,  Vulcan,  and  in  good  tune :  I  was  absolutely 
jealous  of  him,  though,  as  you  know,  I  have  practised 
the  lyre  some  time.  Maia  declares,  too,  that  he  never 
stays  in  heaven  at  night,  but  goes  down  into  the 
Shades,  out  of  curiosity — or  to  steal  something  there, 
most  likely.  He  has  got  wings,  too,  and  has  made 
himself  a  rod  of  some  miraculous  power,  by  which  he 
<uiides  and  conducts  the  dead  below. 

Vul.  Oh,  I  gave  him  that,  myself,  for  a  toy. 

Ap.  So,  in  return,  to  show  his  gratitude,  your 
anvil 

Vul.  By  the  by,  you  remind  me.  I  must  go  and  look 
if  I  can  find  it,  as  you  say,  anywhere  in  his  cradle. 


THE   rAGAN  OLYMPUS.  19 


JUPITER,    AESCULAPIUS,   AND   HERCULES. 

Jupiter.  Be  quiet,  do,  both  of  you — Hercules  and 
iEsculapius — quarrelling  with  one  another,  just  like 
mortals.  It's  really  quite  unseemly,  this  kind  of  con- 
duct ;  not  at  all  the  thing  in  Olympian  society. 

Hercules.  But  do  you  mean  to  say,  Jupiter,  this 
apothecary  fellow  is  to  sit  above  me  ? 

jEsculapius.  Quite  fair  I  should ;  I'm  the  better 
deity. 

Here.  In  what  way,  you  staring  ass?  Because 
Jupiter  struck  you  with  his  lightning  for  doing  what 
you  had  no  right  to  do,  and  now  out  of  sheer  pity 
has  made  you  into  an  immortal? 

uEsc.  Have  you  forgot,  Hercules,  the  bonfire  that 
you  made  of  yourself  upon  Mount  QEta,  that  you 
taunt  me  with  having  been  burnt? 

Here.  Our  lives  were  considerably  different.  I,  the 
son  of  Jove,  Avho  undertook  all  those  labours  to  bene- 
fit my  generation,  conquering  monsters  and  punishing 
tyrants  :  while  you  went  about  like  a  vagabond,  col- 
lecting roots,  of  some  little  use  perhaps  to  dose  a  few 
sick  folk,  but  never  having  done  a  single  deed  of 
valour. 

JEsc.  All  very  fine ;  when  I  healed  your  sores,  sir, 
when  you  came  up  here  the  other  day  half  roasted 
between  the  effects  of  the  tunic  and  the  fire  together. 
Well,  if  I  haven't  done  much,  at  least  I  was  never 
a  slave,  as  you  were — never  carded  wool  in  Lydia 
in  a  woman's  dress — never  had  my  face  slapped  by 


20  LUCIAN. 

Omphale  with  her  gilt  slipper :  and  never  went  mad 
and  killed  my  wife  and  children. 

Here.  If  you  don't  stop  that  abuse,  sir,  you'll 
pretty  soon  find  out  that  your  immortality  is  not  of 
much  use  to  you.  I'll  take  and  pitch  you  head-first 
out  of  heaven ;  and  it  will  he  more  than  Paean  him- 
self can  do  to  mend  you  when  your  skull's  broken. 

Jap.  Stop  !  I  tell  you  both  again,  and  don't  annoy 
the  company,  or  I'll  turn  you  both  out  of  the  hall. 
But  it's  quite  fair,  Hercules,  that  ^Esculapius  should 
sit  above  you — because  he  died  first. 

JUNO   AND    LATONA. 

Juno  (meeting  Iter  rived  with  a  disdainful  half- 
bow).  A  lovely  pair  of  brats  indeed,  Latona,  you 
have  presented  Jupiter  with  ! 

Latona  {with  a  sweeping  curtsey).  Oh,  we  cannot 
all  of  us  be  expected,  your  majesty,  to  produce  such 
a  beauty  as  Vulcan  ! 

Ju.  (rather  disconcerted).  "Well,  lame  as  he  is, 
he  is  very  useful.  He's  a  charming  artist,  and  has 
decorated  heaven  for  us  with  excellent  taste.  Then 
lie  has  married  Venus,  and  she  is  wonderfully  fond 
of  him  too.  But  those  children  of  yours — why, 
that  girl's  quite  a  masculine  creature,  only  fit  for  the 
country.  And  now  this  last  expedition  of  hers  into 
Scythia — everybody  knows  her  horrible  way  of  living 
there — killing  her  visitors  and  eating  them — as  bad 
as  those  cannibals,  the  Scythians  themselves.  Then 
Apollo, — he  pretends,  I'm  told,  to  know  everything 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  21 

— archery,  and  music,  and  medicine,  and  magic  to 
boot;  and  lias  set  up  Ins  prophecy-shops,  one  at 
Delphi,  and  one  in  Claros,  and  one  at  Didymoe  ;  ami 
cheats  the  people  who  come  to  consult  him,  with  his 
enigmas  and  double-en  tendrea,  which  can  be  tinned 
into  answers  to  the  question  both  ways,  so  that  he  can 
never  be  proved  wrong.  lie  makes  it  pay,  no  doubt ; 
there  are  always  fools  enough  in  the  world  ready  to 
be  cheated  by  a  fortune-teller.  But  wiser  persons 
see  through  him  well  enough,  for  all  his  humbugging 
prodigies.  Prophet  as  he  is,  he  could  not  divine  that 
he  was  to  kill  his  favourite  with  a  quoit;  or  foresee 
that  Daphne  would  run  away  from  him,  in  spite  of 
his  pretty  face  and  his  curls.  I  don't  see,  for  my 
own  part,  how  you  could  have  been  considered  more 
fortunate  in  your  children  than  poor  Niobe. 

La.  Oh  yes ;  I  know  how  you  hate  to  see  my  two 
darlings — the  cannibal  and  the  charlatan,  as  you  are 
pleased  to  call  them — in  the  company  of  the  gods  : 
especially  when  her  beauty  is  the  subject  of  remark, 
or  when  he  plays  after  dinner,  to  the  admiration  of 
everybody. 

Ju.  Really,  Latona,  you  make  me  laugh.  Admire 
his  playing  indeed  !  Why,  if  the  Muses  had  only 
thought  proper  to  decide  fairly,  Marsyas  ought  to 
have  skinned  him,  for  he  was  unquestionably  the 
better  musician  of  the  two.  As  it  was,  poor  fellow, 
he  was  cheated,  and  lost  his  life  by  their  unjust 
verdict.  And  as  for  your  beautiful  daughter, — yes, 
she  was  so  beautiful,  that  when  she  knew  she  had 
been  spied  by  Actteon,  for  fear  that  the  young  man 


22  LUCIAN. 

should  publish  her  ugliness,  she  set  the  dogs  at  him. 
And  I  might  add  that  her  occupation  as  a  midwife 
is  not  over-maidenly. 

La.  You  are  mighty  proud,  Juno,  because  you  aie 
the  consort  of  Jove,  and  so  think  you  can  insult  us 
all  as  much  as  you  please.  But  it  will  not  be  very 
long  before  I  shall  see  you  in  your  usual  hysterics, 
when  his  majesty  goes  down  to  earth  in  disguise  upon 
one  of  his  intriguing  rambles. 

VENUS   AND    CUPID. 

Venus.  How  in  the  world  is  it,  Cupid,  that  you, 
who  have  mastered  all  the  other  gods,  Jupiter  and 
Neptune  and  Apollo  and  Rhea — and  even  me,  your 
mother — yet  you  never  try  your  hand  upon  Minerva? 
In  her  case,  your  torch  seems  to  lose  its  fire,  your 
quiver  has  no  arrows,  and  your  skill  and  cunning  is 
all  at  fault. 

Cupid.  I  am  afraid  of  her,  mother ;  she  has  such  a 
terrible  look,  and  such  stern  eyes,  and  is  so  horribly 
manlike.  Whenever  I  bend  my  bow  and  take  aim 
at  her,  she  shakes  her  crest  at  me  and  frightens  me  so 
that  I  absolutely  shake,  and  the  arrow  drops  out  of 
my  hands. 

Ven.  But  was  not  Mars  even  more  terrible?  Yet 
you  disarmed  and  conquered  him. 

Cup.  Oh,  he  gives  in  to  me  of  his  own  accord,  and 
invites  me  to  attack  him.  But  Minerva  always  eyes 
me  suspiciously,  and  whenever  I  fly  near  her  with  my 
torch,  "  If  you  dare  to  touch  me,"  she  says,  "  I  swear 
by  my  father,  I'll  run  my  spear  through  you,  or  take 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  23 

you  by  the  leg  and  pitch  you  into  Tartarus,  or  tear  you 
limb  from  limb."  She  has  often  threatened  me  so  ; 
and  then  she  looks  so  savage,  and  has  got  a  horrible 
head  of  some  kind  fixed  upon  her  breast,  with  snakes 
for  hair,  which  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of.  It  terrifies 
me,  and  I  run  away  whenever  I  see  it. 

Ven.  You  are  afraid  of  Minerva  and  her  Gorgon, 
you  say — you,  who  are  not  afraid  of  Jupiter's  thunder- 
bolt !  And  pray,  why  are  the  Muses  still  untouched, 
as  if  they  were  out  of  the  reach  of  your  arrows  1  Do 
they  shake  their  crests  too,  or  do  they  display  any 
Gorgon's  heads] 

Cup.  Oh,  mother !  I  should  be  ashamed  to  meddle 
with  them — they  are  such  respectable  and  dignified 
young  ladies,  always  deep  in  their  studies,  or  busy 
with  their  music ;  I  often  stand  listening  to  them  till 
I  quite  forget  myself. 

Ven.  Well,  let  them  alone ;  they  are  very  respect- 
aide.  But  Diana,  now — why  do  you  never  aim  a 
shaft  at  her  1 

Cup.  The  fact  is,  I  can't  catch  her ;  she  is  always 
flying  over  the  mountains ;  besides,  she  has  a  little 
private  love-affair  of  her  own  already. 

Ven.  With  whom,  child  1 

Cup.  With  the  game — stags  and  fauns — that  she 
hunts  and  brings  down  with  her  arrows  ;  she  cares  for 
nothing  else,  that  I  know  of.  But  as  for  that  brother 
of  hers,  great  archer  as  he  is,  and  far  as  he  is  said  to 
shoot 

Ven.  (laughbig).  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  child — you've 
hit  him  often  enough. 


24  LUC  I  AN. 

As  a  pendant  to  these  "  Dialogues  of  the  Gods," 
though  it  is  not  one  of  the  pieces  which  hear  that 
name,  we  have  an  amusing  satire,  conceived  in  the 
same  daring  spirit  of  iconoelasm,  called 

JUPITER    IX    HEROICS. 

The  speculations  of  the  rationalists  of  the  day  as 
to   the  existence    or   non-existence  of  the   Olympian 
deities  have  reached  the  ears  of  Jupiter  himself,  and 
he  enters  upon  the  scene  in  a  state  of  considerable 
excitement  and  indignation,  marching  up  and  down, 
and  muttering,  with  a  pallid  face,  and  his  skin  the 
colour  of  a  philosopher,  to  the  great  bewilderment  of 
his  family.     He  finds  it  impossible  to  give  expression 
to  his  feelings  in  sober  prose,  but  addresses  Minerva 
in  tragic  verse,  compounded  from  his  recollections  of 
Euripides.    "  Good  heavens,"  says  his  goddess-daughter 
to  herself,  "what  an  awful  prologue  !"     Xot  to  show 
herself  wanting  in  poetical  taste,  however,  as  indeed 
was  due  to  her  own  reputation,  she  answers  him  in  his 
own  vein,  in  a  cento  from  Homer.     But,  as  the  kin" 
(<f  the  gods  is  proceeding  in  the  same  strain,  Juno 
comes  upon  the  scene,   and,   like  some  mortal  wives, 
has  little  sympathy  with  her  husband's  poetical  vein. 
She  begs  him,  for  the  suke  of  ordinary  comprehensions, 
o   (-online  himself  to  prose.      "Remember,   Jupiter," 
,vs  she,  "  that  sll  of  us  have  not  devoured  Euripides 
"lily,  as  you  have,  and  do  not  be  angry  if  we  are  un- 
able to  keep  up  with  you  in  this  extempore  tragedy." 
>She  draws  her  own  conclusion  at  once  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  excitement.     Plainly  it  is  nothing  more  or  less 


THE  PAGAN   OLYMPUS.  25 

than  a  new  love-affair.  Jupiter  scornfully  assures  her 
that  this  is  quite  a  different  matter.  It  is  a  question 
which  concerns  the  honour  and  status  of  all  the  court 
of  Olympus  ;  men  are  actually  discussing  among  them- 
selves upon  earth  whether  they  shall  hereafter  do 
worship  and  sacrifice  to  the  gods  at  all.  A  council  of 
the  immortals  must  be  held  at  once  on  urgent  affairs; 
although  Minerva,  with  a  cautious  prudence  which 
will  always  lind  imitators,  suggests  that  it  would  be 
better  to  leave  such  questions  to  settle  themselves,  and 
that  the  safest  way  to  treat  scepticism  is  to  ignore  it. 
l>ut  her  counsel  is  overruled,  and  Mercury  has  orders 
to  summon  a  general  assembly  of  the  gods  forthwith. 

Mercury.  0  yes,  0  yes  !  the  gods  are  to  come  to 
council  immediately  !  No  delay — all  to  be  present — 
come,  come  !  upon  urgent  affairs  of  state. 

Jupiter.  What !  do  you  summon  them  in  that  bald, 
inartificial,  prosaic  fashion,  Mercury— and  on  a  business 
of  such  high  importance? 

Merc.  Why,  how  would  you  have  it  done,  then  ? 

Jup.  How  would  I  have  it  done  1  I  say,  proclama- 
tion should  be  made  in  dignified  style — in  verse  of 
some  kind,  and  with  a  sort  of  poetical  grandeur.  They 
would  be  more  likely  to  come. 

Merc.  Possibly.  But  that's  the  business  of  your 
epic  poets  and  rhapsodists — I'm  not  at  all  poetical 
myself.  T  should  infallibly  spoil  the  job,  by  putting 
in  a  foot  too  much  or  a  foot  too  little,  and  only  get 
myself  laughed  at  for  my  bungling  poetry.  I  hear 
even  Apollo  himself  ridiculed  for  some  of  his  poetical 


26  LVCIAN. 

oracles — though  in  his  case  obscurity  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  sins.  Those  who  consult  him  have  so  much 
to  do  to  make  out  his  meaning  that  they  haven't  much 
leisure  to  criticise  his  verse. 

Jup.  Well,  but,  Mercury,  mix  up  a  little  Homer  in 
your  summons — the  form,  you  know,  in  which  he 
used  to  call  us  together  ;  you  surely  remember  it. 

Merc.  Not  very  readily  or  clearly.  However,  I'll 
try:— 

"  Now,  all  ye  female  gods,  and  all  ye  male, 
And  all  ye  streams  within  old  Ocean's  pale, 
And  all  ye  nymphs,  at  Jove's  high  summons,  come, 
All  ye  who  eat  the  sacred  hecatomb  ! 
Who  sit  and  sniff  the  holy  steam,  come  all, 
Great  names,  and  small  names,  and  no  names  at  all"* 

Jup.  Well  done,  Mercury !  a  most  admirable  pro- 
clamation. Here  they  are  all  coming  already.  Now 
take  and  seat  them,  each  in  the  order  of  their  dignity 
— according  to  their  material  or  their  workmanship ; 
the  golden  ones  in  the  first  seats,  the  silver  next  to 
them ;  then  in  succession  those  of  ivory,  brass,  and 
stone, — and  of  these,  let  the  works  of  Phidias,  and 
Alcamenes,  and  Myron,  and  Euphranor,  and  suchlike 
artists,  take  precedence  ;  but  let  the  rude  and  inartistic 
figures  be  pushed  into  some  corner  or  other,  just  to  fill 
up  the  meeting — and  let  them  hold  their  tongues. 

Merc.  So  be  it ;  they  shall  be  seated  according  to 
their  degree.  But  it  may  be  as  well  for  me  to  under- 
stand,— supposing  one  be  of  gold,  weighing  ever  so 

*  A  burlesque  of  sundry  passages  in  Homer. 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  27 

many  talents,  but  not  well  executed,  and  altogether 
common  and  badly  finished,  is  he  to  sit  above  the 
brazen  statues  of  Myron'  and  Polycleitus,  or  the 
marble  of  Phidias  and  Alcamenes  1  Or  must  I  count 
the  art  as  more  worthy  than  the  material  1 

Jup.  It  ought  to  be  so,  certainly;  but  we  must  give 
the  gold  the  preference,  all  the  same. 

Merc.  I  understand.  You  would  have  me  class  them 
according  to  wealth,  not  according  to  merit  or  excel- 
lence. Now,  then,  you  that  are  made  of  gold,  here — 
in  the  first  seats.  (Turning  to  Jupiter.)  It  seems  to 
me,  your  majesty,  that  the  first  places  will  be  filled  up 
entirely  with  barbarians.  You  see  what  the  Greeks 
are — very  graceful  and  beautiful,  and  of  admirable 
workmanship,  but  of  marble  or  brass,  all  of  them,  or 
even  the  most  valuable,  of  ivory,  with  just  a  little  gold 
to  give  them  colour  and  brightness ;  while  their  in- 
terior is  of  wood,  with  probably  a  whole  common- 
wealth of  mice  established  inside  them.  Whereas 
that  Bendis,  and  Anubis,  and  Atthis  there,  and  Men, 
are  of  solid  gold,  and  really  of  enormous  value.* 

Neptune  {coming  forward).  And  is  this  fair,  Mer- 
cury, that  this  dog-faced  monster  from  Egypt  should 
sit  above  me — me — Neptune? 

Merc.  That's  the  rule.  Because,  my  friend  Earth- 
shaker,  Lysippus  made  you  of  brass,  and  consequently 
p0or — the  Corinthians  having  no  gold  at  that  time  ; 

*  Bemlis  was  a  Thracian  goddess,  in  whom  Herodotus  recog- 
nises Diana.  The  Athenians  had  introduced  her,  and  held  a 
festival  in  her  honour.  Atthis  and  Men  (Lunus)  were  Phrygian 
deities:  Mithras  was  the  Persian  sun-god. 


28  LUC  I  AN. 

Avhereas  that  is  the  most  valuable  of  all  metals.  You 
must  make  up  your  mind,  therefore,  to  make  room  for 
him,  and  not  he  vexed  about  it;  a  god  with  a  great 
gold  nose  like  that  must  needs  take  precedence. 

(Enter  Vends.) — Ven.  (coaxingly  to  Mercury).  Now 
then,  Mercury  dear,  take  and  put  me  in  a  good  place, 
please  ;  I'm  golden,  you  know. 

Mere.  Not  at  ail,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Unless  I'm 
very  blind,  you're  cut  out  of  white  marble — from  Pen- 
telicus,  I  think — and  it  pleased  Praxiteles  to  make  a 
Venus  of  you,  and  hand  you  over  to  the  people  of 
Cnidus. 

Ven.  But  I  can  produce  a  most  unimpeachable 
witness — Homer  himself.  He  continually  calls  me 
"golden  Venus"  all  through  his  poems. 

Merc.  Yes  ;  and  the  same  authority  calls  Apollo 
"  rich  in  gold  "  and  "  wealthy  ;  "  but  you  can  see  him 
sitting  down  there  among  the  ordinary  gods.  He  was 
stripped  of  his  golden  crown,  you  see,  by  the  thieves, 
and  they  even  stole  the  strings  of  his  lyre.  So  you 
may  think  yourself  well  off  that  I  don't  put  you  down 
cpiite  amongst  the  crowd. 

(Enter  the  Colossus  o/Phodes.) — Col.  Now,  who 
will  venture  to  dispute  precedence  with  me — me,  who 
am  the  Sun,  and  of  such  a  size  to  boot1?  If  it  had  not 
been  that  the  good  .people  of  Phodes  determined  to 
construct  me  of  extraordinary  dimensions,  they  could 
have  made  sixteen  golden  gods  for  the  same  price.* 
Therefore  I  must  be  ranked   higher,  by  the  rule  of 

*  Sixteen  was  the  recognised  number  of  legitimate  gol>. 


THE  PAGAN   OLYMPUS.  29 

proportion.  Besides,  lool;:  at  the  art  and  the  work- 
manship,— so  correct,  though  on  such  an  immense 
scale. 

Merc.  What's  to  he  done,  Jupiter?  It's  a  very  hard 
question  for  me  to  decide.  If  I  look  at  his  material, 
he's  only  brass ;  but  if  I  calculate  how  many  talents' 
weight  of  brass  he  has  in  him,  he's  worth  the  most 
money  of  them  all. 

Jap.  (testily).  What  the  deuce  does  he  want  here  at 
all — -dwarfing  all  the  rest  of  us  into  insignificance,  as 
he  does,  and  blocking  up  the  meeting  besides1?  (Aloud 
to  Colossus.)  Hark  ye,  good  cousin  of  Rhodes,  though 
you  may  be  worth  more  than  all  these  golden  gods, 
how  can  you  possibly  take  the  highest  seat,  unless 
they  all  get  up  and  you  sit  down  by  yourself?  Why, 
one  of  your  thighs  would  take  up  all  the  seats  in  the 
Pnyx  !  You'd  better  stand  up,  if  you  please, — and 
you  can  stoop  your  head  a  little  towards  the  company. 

Mere.  Here's  another  difficulty,  again.  Here  are 
two,  both  of  brass,  and  of  the  same  workmanship, 
both  from  the  hands  of  Lysippus,  and,  more  than  all, 
equal  in  point  of  birth,  both  being  sons  of  Jupiter — 
Bacchus,  here,  and  Hercules.  Which  of  them  is  to  sit 
first?     They're  quarrelling  over  it,  as  you  see. 

Jup.  We're  wasting  time,  Mercury,  when  we  ought 
to  have  begun  business  long  ago.  So  let  them  sit 
down  anyhow  now,  as  they  please.  We  will  have 
another  meeting  hereafter  about  this  question,  and 
then  I  shall  know  better  what  regulations  to  make 
about  precedence. 

Merc.  But,    good   heavens !   what  a  row   they  all 


30  l  ucia  nr. 

make,  shouting  that  perpetual  cry,  as  they  do, — 
"  Divide,  'vide,  'vide  the  victims ! "  "  Where's  the 
nectar?  where's  the  nectar?  "  "  The  amhrosia's  all  out ! 
the  ambrosia's  all  out !  "  "  Where  are  the  hecatombs  ? 
■where  are  the  hecatombs  ? "     "  Give  us  our  share  ! " 

Jup.  Bid  them  hold  their  tongues,  do,  Mercury, 
that  they  may  hear  the  object  of  the  meeting,  and  let 
such  nonsense  alone. 

Merc.  But  they  don't  all  understand  Greek,  and  I 
am  no  such  universal  linguist  as  to  make  proclamation 
in  Scythian,  and  Persian,  and  Thracian,  and  Celtic. 
It  will  be  best,  I  suppose,  to  make  a  motion  with 
my  hand  for  them  to  be  silent. 

Jup.  Very  well — do. 

Merc.  See,  they're  all  as  dumb  as  philosophers. 
Now's  your  time  to  speak.  Do  you  see?  they're  all  look- 
ing at  you,  waiting  to  hear  what  you're  going  to  say. 

Jup.  {clearing  his  throat).  Well,  as  you're  my  own 
son,  Mercury,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  Iioav  I  feel. 
You  know  how  self-possessed  and  how  eloquent  I 
always  am  at  public  meetings? 

Merc.  I  know  I  trembled  whenever  I  heard  you 
speak,  especially  when  you  used  to  threaten  all  that 
about  wrenching  up  earth  and  sea  from  their  foun- 
dations, you  know,  gods  and  all,  and  dangling  that 
golden  chain  * 

*  Lucian  repeatedly  brings  forward,  in  these  Dialogues,  the 
gasconade  which  Homer  put  into  the  mouth  of  Jupiter,  II. 
viii.  18— 

"  A  golden  chain  let  down  from  heaven,  and  all, 
Both  gods  and  goddesses,  yo  *r  strength  apply ; 


STATE  NORMAL  SUrtUOl, 
Lm  Anf  eks,  Cai. 

THE  PAGAN   OLYMPUS.  31 

Jup.  (interrupting  him).  But  how,  my  son, — I  can't 
tell  whether  it's  the  importance  of  the  subject,  or  the 
vastness  of  the  assembly  (there  are  a  tremendous  lot 
of  gods  here,  you  see) — my  ideas  seem  all  in  a  whirl, 
and  a  sort  of  trembling  has  come  over  me,  and  my 
tongue  seems  as  though  it  were  tied.  And  the  most 
unlucky  thing  of  all  is,  I've  forgotten  the  opening 
paragraph  of  my  speech,  which  I  had  all  ready  pre- 
pared beforehand,  that  my  exordium  might  be  as 
attractive  as  possible. 

Merc.  Well,  my  good  sir,  you  are  in  a  bad  way. 
They  all  mistrust  your  silence,  and  fancy  they  are  to 
hear  something  very  terrible,  and  that  this  is  what 
makes  you  hesitate. 

Jup.  Suppose,  Mercury,  I  were  to  rhapsodise  a 
little, — that  introduction,  you  know,  out  of  Homer  1 

Merc.  Which? 

Jup.  (declaiming) — 

"  Now,  hear  my  words,  ye  gods  and  she-gods  all " 

Merc.  No — heaven  forbid  !  you've  given  us  enough 
of  that  stuff  already.  No — pray  let  that  hackneyed 
style  alone.  Rdther  give  them  a  bit  out  of  one  of  the 
Philippics  of  Demosthenes — any  one  you  please  ;  you 


Yet  would  ye  fail  to  drag  from  heaven  to  earth, 

Strive  as  ye  may,  your  mighty  master  Jove  : 

But  if  I  choose  to  make  my  power  be  known, 

The  earth  itself  and  ocean  I  could  raise, 

And  binding  round  Olympus'  ridge  the  cord, 

Leave  them  suspended  so  in  middle  air." — (Lord  Dertjy.) 

jupiter  here  dislikes  Mercury's  allusion  to  it. 


32  LUC  IAN. 

can  alter  and  adapt  it  a  little.     That's  the  plan  most 
of  our  modern  orators  adopt. 

His  Olympian  majesty  begins  his  oration,  accord- 
ingly, with  an  adaptation  of  the  opening  of  the  First 
Philippic.  But  he  presently  descends  to  his  own 
matter-of-fact  style  ("here,"  he  says,  "my  Demos- 
thenes fails  me  "),  and  relates  how  he  had  been  present 
the  day  before,  with  some  other  gods,  at  a  sacrifice  of 
thanksgiving  offered  by  a  merchant-captain  for  his 
preservation  from  shipwreck — a  very  shabby  affair,  he 
complains  it  was,  a  single  tough  old  cock  for  supper 
among  sixteen  gods.  On  his  way  home,  he  had  heard 
two  philosophers  disputing,  and,  wishing  to  listen  to 
their  arguments,  assumed  a  cloak  and  a  long  beard, 
and  might,  he  declares,  have  very  easily,  for  the  nonce, 
passed  for  a  philosopher  himself.  It  was  that  rascal 
Damis  the  Epicurean,  disputing  with  Timocles  the 
Stoic,  asserting  that  the  gods  took  no  heed  to  mortals  or 
their  affairs — in  fact,  practically  denying  their  exist- 
ence. Poor  Timocles  had  been  making  a  stout  fight  of  it 
on  the  other  side,  but  was  so  hard  pressed  by  his  oppo- 
nent that  Jupiter  found  him  all  in  a  perspiration  and 
almost  exhausted;  he  had  therefore  thrown  the  shadows 
of  night  round  the  disputants  at  once,  and  so  put  an 
end  to  the  discussion.  Following  the  crowd  on  their 
way  home,  he  had  been  shocked  to  find  that  the  ma- 
jority~were  on  the  side  of  the  atheistical  Damis  ;  and 
lie  had  now  summoned  this  assembly  to  take  into 
their  serious  consideration  the  terrible  results  that 
would  ensue  if  this  opinion  became  the  popular  one. 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  33 

No  more  victims,  and  gifts,  and  incense-offering, — "  the 
gods  may  sit  in  heaven  and  starve."  Damis  and 
Timocles  are  to  meet  again,  he  understands,  for  public 
discussion,  and  Jupiter  verily  fears  that  unless  the 
gods  give  some  help  to  their  own  champion,  the  other 
will  get  the  best  of  it.  lie  begs  that  some  one  of 
the  assembly  will  get  up  hi  his  place  and  offer  some 
advice.  Mercury  invites  any  "  who  are  of  the  legal 
standing  in  point  of  age  "  (we  are  to  understand  there 
are  a  great  many  newly-introduced  deities  in  the 
council)  to  rise  and  deliver  his  opinion. 

To  make  the  burlesque  more  complete,  it  is  Momus, 
the  jester  of  the  Olympian  conclave,  who  first  rises 
in  reply  to  Jupiter's  invitation.*  He  has  long  ex- 
pected this,  and  is  not  surprised  at  it.  The  gods  have 
brought  it  upon  themselves,  by  neglecting  their  duties 
notoriously.  Here,  among  friends  and  gods,-  with  no 
mortal  to  hear,  he  may  venture  to  speak  openly.  Has 
Jupiter  himself  been  careful  to  make  distinction  be- 
tween the  good  and  the  evil  upon  earth  1  Has  virtue 
found  any  reward,  or  vice  any  punishment  1  What  have 
any  of  them  been  caring  for  but  their  victims  and  their 
dues  1  "What  shameful  stories  they  have  allowed  the 
poets  to  tell  of  their  private  life  ! — stories  which,  he 

*  Lord  Lyttelton,  in  his  "  Dialogues  of  the  Dead,"  makes 
Lucian  give  his  own  explanation  of  this  passage  to  Rabelais, 
who  does  not  quite  understand  the  introduction  of  Momus.  "  I 
think  our  priests  admitted  Momus  into  our  heaven  as  the 
Indians  are  said  to  worship  the  Devil, — through  fear.  They 
had  a  mind  to  keep  fair  with  him.  For  we  may  talk  of  the 
Giants  as  we  will,  but  to  our  Gods  there  can  he  no  enemy  so 
formidable  as  he.     Ridicule  is  the  terror  of  all  false  religions." 

A.  c.  vol.  xviii.  0 


34  LUC1AN. 

admits,  may  possibly  be  true  enough,  yet  not  meet  to 
be  told  to  mortal  hearers.  And  then  the  oracles,  Avorse 
than  vague,  positively  deceptive — witness  those  noto- 
rious productions  of  Apollo's  about  the  empire  which 
Crcesus  was  to  destroy  by  crossing  the  Halys,  and  the 
sons  of  women  who  were  to  meet  their  fate  at  Salamis. 
No  marvel  if,  when  the  gods  are  so  remiss  in  their 
duties,  men  begin  to  grow  tired  of  worshipping  them. 

Jupiter  protests  against  such  ribald  language.  He 
quotes  his  Demosthenes  to  the  effect  that  it  is  much 
more  easy  to  abuse  and  to  find  fault  than  to  offer  sug- 
gestions under  difficulties.  » 

Then  Neptune  asks  leave  to  say  a  feAV  words.  He 
lives,  indeed,  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  is  not  in 
the  habit  of  interfering  much  in  affairs  on  land,  but 
lie  strongly  advises  that  this  Damis  shall  be  silenced 
at  once — by  lightning,  or  some  such  irresistible  argu- 
ment. But  Jupiter  replies,  very  fairly,  that  this 
would  only  be  a  tacit  admission  on  the  part  of  the 
gods  that  they  had  no  other  kind  of  argument  to 
offer.  Apollo  gives  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  fault  lies 
in  Timocles  himself,  who,  though  a  very  sensible  man, 
has  not  the  knack  of  putting  an  argument  clearly. 
Upon  which  Momus  remarks  that  the  recommendation 
of  clearness  and  perspicuity  certainly  comes  with  a 
curious  kind  of  propriety  from  Apollo,  considering 
the  style  of  his  own  oracular  utterances.  He  invites 
him  to  give  them  an  oracle  now, — which  of  the  two 
disputants  will  get  the  better  in  this  contest  1  Apollo 
tries  to  excuse  himself,  on  the  ground  that  he  has  no 
tripod  or  incense,   or  other  appliances   at  hand,  and 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  35 

that  he  can  do  this  kind  of  thing  in  much  hetter  style 
at  Colophon  or  at  Delphi.  At  last,  urged  by  Jupiter 
to  prove  his  art,  and  so  put  a  stop  to  the  jeers  of  Momus, 
he  proceeds,  with  some  apology  for  extempore  versi- 
fying, to  deliver  an  utterly  incomprehensible  oracle, 
which  fully  justifies  the  criticisms  of  his  brother  deity. 
Hercules  offers  to  pull  down  the  whole  portico  on  the 
head  of  Damis,  if  the  controversy  should  seem  to  be 
taking  a  turn  unfavourable  to  the  Olympian  interests. 
But  now  a  messenger  arrives  from  earth,  no  other 
than  the  brazen  statue  of  Hermagoras — Mercury  of  the 
Forum — who  stands  in  front  of  the  Pcecile  at  Athens. 
He  comes  to  announce — adopting  the  new  fashion  of 
heroics  set  by  Jupiter — that  the  duel  of  the  philoso- 
phers has  been  renewed.  The  gods  agree  to  go  down 
to  see  the  battle,  and  the  scene  of  the  dialogue  is 
supposed  to  change  at  once  to  Athens.  There  Ti- 
mocles  is  trying  to  argue  with  his  infidel  opponent. 
He  wonders,  he  says,  that  men  do  not  stone  him  for 
his  impious  assertions.  Damis  docs  not  see  why 
men  should  take  that  trouble  :  the  gods,  if  gods  they 
be,  can  surely  take  their  own  part ;  they  hear  him, 
and  yet  they  do  not  strike.  But  they  will,  replies 
Timocles ;  their  vengeance  is  sure  though  slow.  They 
are  otherwise  occupied,  retorts  the  scer)tic — gone  out 
to  dinner,  perhaps,  with  those  "  blameless  Ethiopians  " 
— they  often  do,  according  to  Homer ;  possibly,  some- 
times, even  without  waiting  for  an  invitation.  In  vain 
dues  his  opponent  argue  from  the  harmony  and  order 
of  creation,  and  from  the  general  consent  of  mankind  : 
the  very  diversities  of    national  worship,   the  many 


3G  LUCIAN. 

absurd  forms  of  superstition,  are  claimed  by  his  oppo- 
nent as  arguments  on  the  other  side.  Timocles  com- 
pares the  world  to  a  ship,  which  could  not  keep  its 
course  without  a  steersman.  Damis  replies  that  if 
there  were,  indeed,  a  divinity  at  the  helm  of  this 
world's  affairs,  he  would  surely  parcel  out  the  duties 
of  his  crew  better  than  he  appears  to  do — putting  the 
rascals  and  lubbers  in  command,  and  letting  the  best 
men  be  stowed  away  in  holes  and  corners,  and  kept  on 
short  rations  besides.  Timocles,  as  a  last  resource, 
threatens  to  break  the  head  of  his  opponent,  who  runs 
away  laughing.  Jupiter  is  in  doubt,  however,  on 
which  side  the  real  victory  lies.  Mercury  consoles 
him  that  the  gods  have  still  the  majority  on  their  side 
■ — three-fourths  of  the  Greeks,  all  the  rabble,  and  all 
the  barbarians.  " ISay,  my  son,"  replies  Jupiter,  "but 
that  saying  of  Darius  had  much  truth,  which  he 
uttered  of  his  faithful  general  Zopyrus  :  I,  too,  had 
rather  have  one  man  like  Damis  on  my  side  than  ten 
thousand  Babylonians."  * 

The  satire,  in  its  bold  scepticism,  seems  to  go  much 
beyond  the  "  Dialogues  of  the  Gods."  In  those,  it  is 
but  the  absurdities  of  the  popular  mythology — always 
incredible,  one  cannot  but  think,  to  the  educated  in- 
telligence— which  he  ridicules  and  exposes ;  a  creed 
which,  if  it  could  be  supposed  to  have  any  influence 
upon  the  moral  conduct  of  men,  could  only  have  had 
an  influence  for  evil.  But  in  that  which  has  now  been 
sketched,  he  attacks  the  belief  in  a  divine  providence 

*  The  story  is  told  by  Ht-rodotus,  iii.  154. 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  37 

altogether  :  and  though  most  of  the  arguments  against 
such  government  of  the  world  are  chielly  taken  from 
the  manifest  falsehood  of  certain  items  of  the  Greek 
popular  creed,  still  the  tone  is  too  much  that  of  pure 
materialism. 

THE   COUNCIL   OF   THE   GODS. 

In  this  amusing  scene  the  ahsurdities  of  polytheism 
are  put  in  the  broadest  light,  and  treated  with  the  most 
admirable  humour.  The  object  of  the  Council,  which 
is  summoned  by  Jupiter's  orders,  is  to  institute  a  strict 
scrutiny  into  the  right  and  title  of  the  new  gods — 
aliens  and  foreigners  of  all  kinds  and  shapes — to  a  seat 
in  the  house  of  Olympus.  They  have  lately  found 
their  way  into  heaven  in  such  numbers  that  they  are 
becoming  quite  a  nuisance,  as  Ave  have  seen  in  the  com- 
plaint made  both  by  Neptune  and  Mercury  in  the 
dialogue  just  preceding. 

Momus  is  again  the  chief  spokesman  ;  freedom  of 
speech  is,  as  he  says,  one  of  his  main  characteristics,  and 
he  is  in  the  habit  of  giving  his  opinion  without  fear  or 
favour.  So,  with  Jupiter's  permission,  he  will  name  some 
of  what  he  considers  the  most  gross  cases  of  intrusion. 

Momus.  First,  there  is  Bacchus ;  a  grand  pedigree 
his  is  ! — half  a  mortal,  not  even  a  Greek  by  his  mother's 
side,  but  the  grandson  of  some  Syro-Phcenician  merchant- 
captain,  Cadmus.  Since  he  has  been  dignified  with  im- 
mortality, I  shall  say  nothing  about  himself, — his  stylo 
of  head-dress,  his  drinking,  or  his  unsteady  gait.  You 
can  all  see  what  he  is,  I  suppose — more  like  a  woman 


38  LUC  IAN. 

than  a  man,  half  crazy,  and  stinking  of  wine  even  be- 
fore breakfast.  But  he  has  brought  in  his  whole  tribe 
to  swell  our  company,  and  here  he  is  with  all  his  rout, 
whom  he  passes  off  as  gods — Pan,  and  Silenus,  and  the 
Satyrs,  a  lot  of  rough  country  louts,  goat-herds  most  of 
them,  dancing-fellows,  of  all  manner  of  strange  shapes; 
one  of  them  has  horns,  and  is  like  a  goat  ail  below 
his  waist,  with  a  long  beard — you  hardly  can  tell  him 
from  a  goat ;  another  is  a  bald  fellow  with  a  flat  nose, 
generally  mounted  on  an  ass — a  Lydian,  he  is.  Then 
there  are  the  Satyrs  with  their  little  prick  ears,  bald  too, 
they  are,  and  with  little  budding  horns  like  kids — Phry- 
gians, I  believe  ;  and  they've  all  got  taiis  besides.  You 
see  the  sort  of  gods  my  noble  friend  provides  us  with. 
And  then  we  are  surprised  that  men  hold  us  in  con- 
tempt, when  they  see  such  ridiculous  and  monstrous 
guds  as  these  !  I  say  nothing  of  his  introducing  two 
Avomen  here — one  his  mistress  Ariadne  (whose  crown, 
too,  he  has  put  among  the  stars,  forsooth !),  and  the 
other  a  farmer's  daughter,  Erigone.  And  what  is 
more  absurd  than  all,  brother  deities,  he  has  brought 
her  dog  in  too  :  for  fear,  I  suppose,  that  the  girl  should 
cry  if  she  hadn't  her  darling  pet  to  keep  her  company 
in  heaven.  Now,  don't  you  consider  all  this  an  insult, 
— mere  drunken  madness  and  absurdity  1  And  now 
I'll  tell  you  about  one  or  two  more. 

Jupiter  (interrupting  him).  Don't  say  a  word,  if  you 
please,  Momus,  either  about  Hercules  or  vEsculapius — 
I  see  what  you're  driving  at.  As  to  those  two,  one  is 
a  physician,  and  cures  diseases,  and,  as  old  Homer  says, 
you  know — "is   worth  a  host  of  men;"  and  as  to 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  39 

Hercules, — why,  he's  my  son,  and  earned  his  immortal- 
ity hy  very  hard  work  ;  so  say  no  Avord  against  him. 

Mom.  "Well,  I'll  hold  my  tongue,  Jupiter,  though  I 
could  say  a  good  deal.  They're  both  as  black  as  cin- 
ders still,  from  the  fire.  If  you  would  only  give  me 
leave  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  I've  a  good  deal  to  say 
about  you. 

Jup.  Oh,  pray  speak  out,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned! 
Perhaps  you  charge  me  with  being  a  foreigner  too  ? 

Mom.  Well,  in  Crete  they  do  say  that,  you  know ; 
and  more  than  that,  they  show  the  place  where  you 
were  buried.  I  don't  believe  them  myself — any  more 
than  I  do  what  the  people  of  iEgium  say, — that  you 
are  a  changeling.  But  I  do  say  this,  that  you've 
brought  in  too  many  of  your  illegitimate  children  here. 

Momus  goes  on  to  tell  the  royal  chairman  some 
home  truths,  which  Jupiter  hears  with  great  equanim- 
ity. Then  he  inveighs  against  the  monstrous  forms 
introduced  from  Eastern  mythology  ;  Phrygians  and 
Medes  like  Atthis  and  Mithras,  who  cannot  even 
talk  Greek  ;  the  dog-faced  Anubis,  and  the  spotted 
bull  from  Memphis,  apes  and  ibises  from  Egypt.  And 
how  can  Jupiter  himself  have  allowed  them  to  put 
rani's  horns  on  his  head  at  Amnion?  No  wonder 
that  mortals  learn  to  despise  him. 

A  solemn  decree  is  drawn  up  by  Momus,  in  strict  legal 
form,  beginning  as  follows :  "  Whereas  divers  aliens, 
not  only  Greeks  but  Barbarians,  who  are  in  no  wise 
entitled  to  the  freedom  of  our  community,  have  got 
themselves  enrolled  as  gods,  and  so  crowded  heaven 


40  LUCIAX. 

that  it  has  become  a  mere  disorderly  mob  of  all  nations 
and  languages  :  and  whereas  thereby  the  ambrosia  and 
the  nectar  runs  short,  so  that  the  latter  is  now  four 
guineas  a  pint,  because  there  are  so  many  to  drink  it ; 
and  whereas  these  new-comers,  in  their  impudence, 
push  the  old  and  real  gods  out  of  their  places,  and 
claim  precedence  for  themselves,  against  all  our  ancient 
rights,  and  demand  also  priority  of  worship  on  earth  ; 
it  seemed  good,  therefore,  to  the  Senate  and  Commons 
of  Olympus,  to  hold  a  High  Court  at  the  winter  equi- 
nox, and  to  elect  as  Commissioners  of  Privileges  seven 
of  the  greater  gods, — three  from  the  ancient  council  of 
the  reign  of  Saturn,  and  four  from  the  twelve  gods,  of 
whom  Jupiter  to  be  one." 

The  business  of  the  Commission  is  to  be  the  ex- 
amination of  all  claims  to  a  seat  in  Olympus.  Claim- 
ants are  to  bring  their  witnesses,  and  prove  their  pure 
descent ;  and  they  who  cannot  make  good  their  claims 
are  to  be  sent  back  to  the  tombs  of  their  fathers. 
Moreover,  from  this  time  forth  every  deity  is  to  mind 
his  or  her  proper  business,  and  none  to  pursue  more 
than  one  art  or  science ;  Minerva  is  not  to  practise 
physic,  nor  iEsculapius  divination ;  and  Apollo  is  to 
make  his  election,  and  either  be  a  seer,  or  a  musician, 
or  a  doctor — but  not  all  three. 

Jupiter  had  intended  to  put  this  decree  to  the  vote ; 
but,  foreseeing  that  a  great  many  who  were  there 
present  would  probably  vote  against  it,  he  took  the 
easier  course  of  issuing  it  on  his  own  royal  authority. 


The  dramatic  sketch  entitled  "  Timon  "  handles  the 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  41 

Olympian  Jupiter  in  the  same  free  spirit  as  the  pre- 
ceding Dialogues,  and  is  by  some  considered  as  the 
author's  masterpiece.  The  character  of  Plutus,  the 
god  of  Riches,  introduced  into  the  piece,  is  obviou.sly 
borrowed  from  Aristophanes's  comedy  of  that  name. 
T-imon  is  introduced  after  he  has  forsaken  society, 
and  is  digging  for  his  livelihood. 

TIMON. 

Timon  (stopping  his  work,  and  leaning  on  his 
spade).  O  Jupiter  ! — god  of  Friendship,  god  of  Hos- 
pitality, god  of  Sociality,  god  of  the  Hearth,  Lightning- 
flasher,  Oath-protector,  Cloud-compeller,  Thunderer, — 
or  by  Avhatever  name  those  moon-struck  poets  please 
to  call  you  (especially  when  they  have  a  hitch  in  the 
verse,  for  then  your  great  stock  of  titles  helps  to  prop 
a  lame  line,  or  fill  a  gap  in  the  metre), — where  be  your 
flashing  lightnings  now,  and  your  rolling  thunders,  and 
that  terrible  levin-bolt  of  yours,  blazing  and  red-hot  1 
Plainly  all  these  are  nonsense, — a  mere  humbug  of  the 
poets,  nothing  but  sonorous  words.  That  thunderbolt 
which  they  are  always  singing  of,  that  strikes  so  far 
and  is  so  ready  to  hand, — it's  quenched,  I  suppose  ] 
got  cold,  and  hasn't  a  spark  of  fire  left  in  it  to  scorch 
rascals.  A  man  who  has  committed  perjury  is  more 
afraid,  now,  of  the  snuff  of  last  night's  lamp  than  of 
your  invincible  lightning.  'Tis  just  as  if  you  were 
to  throw  the  stump  of  a  torch  among  them, — they 
would  have  no  fear  of  the  fire  or  smoke,  but  only  of 
getting  besmirched  with  the  black  from  it. 

Ah,  Jupiter  !  in  your  youthful  days,  when  you  were 


f 


42  LUCIAN. 

hot-blooded  and  quick-tempered,  then  you  used  to  deal 
summary  justice  against  knaves  and  villains  :  never 
made  truce  with  them  for  a  day :  but  the  lightning 
was  always  at  work,  and  the  aegis  always  shaking  over 
them,  and  the  thunder  rolling,  and  the  bolts  continu- 
ally launched  here  and  there,  like  a  skirmish  of  sharp- 
shooters :  and  earthquakes  shook  us  all  like  beans  in 
a  sieve,  and  snow  came  in  heaps,  and  hail  like  pebbles, 
and — for  I'm  determined,  you  see,  to  speak  my  mind 
to  you — then  your  rain  was  good  strong  rain, — each 
drop  like  a  river.  Why,  in  Deucalion's  days,  there 
rose  such  a  deluge  in  no  time,  that  everything  was 
drowned  except  one  little  ark  that  stuck  on  Mount 
Lycoris,  and  preserved  one  little  surviving  spark  of 
human  life,  —  in  order,  I  suppose,  to  breed  a  new 
generation  worse  than  the  other. 

Weil — you  see  the  consequences  of  your  laziness, 
and  it  serves  you  right.  No  man  now  offers  you  a 
sacrifice,  or  puts  a  garland  on  you,  except  at  odd  times 
the  winners  at  Olympia ;  and  they  do  it  not  because 
they  feel  under  any  obligation  to  do  it,  but  merely  in 
compliance  with  a  kind  of  old  custom.  They'll  very 
soon  make  you  like  Saturn,  and  take  all  your  honours 
from  you,  though  you  think  yourself  the  grandest  of 
the  gods.  I  say  nothing  as  to  how  often  they  have 
robbed  your  temples — nay,  some  fellows,  I  hear,  actu- 
ally laid  hands  on  your  sacred  person  at  Olympia  ; 
while  you, — the  great  thunder-god, — did  not  even 
trouble  yourself  to  set  the  dogs  at  them,  or  rouse  the 
neighbours,  but  sat  there  quiet, — you,  the  celebrated 
Giant-killer  and  Titan-queller,  as  they  call  you, — while 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  43 

they  cut  your  golden  locks  off  your  royal  head,  though 
you  had  a  twenty-foot  thunderbolt  in  your  hand  all 
the  while.  When  does  your  High  Mightiness  mean 
to  put  a  stop  to  all  this  which  you  are  allowing  to  go 
on1?  How  many  conflagrations  like  Phaeton's,  how 
many  deluges  like  Deucalion's,  does  such  a  world  as 
this  deserve'? 

To  pass  now  from  public  iniquities  to  my  own 
case.  After  raising  so  many  Athenians  from  poverty 
to  wealth  and  greatness, —  after  helping  every  man 
that  was  in  want — or  rather,  pouring  my  riches  out 
wholesale  to  serve  my  friends, — when  I  have  brought 
myself  to  poverty  by  this,  these  men  utterly  refuse  to 
know  me  ;  men  who  used  to  honour  me,  worship  me, 
hang  on  my  very  nod,  now  will  not  even  look  at  me. 
If  I  meet  any  of  them  as  I  walk,  they  pass  me  without  a 
glance,  as  though  I  were  some  old  sepulchral  stone  fallen 
down  through  lapse  of  years  :  while  those  who  see  me  in 
the  distance  turn  into  another  path,  as  if  I  were  some  ill- 
omened  vision  which  they  feared  to  meet  or  look  upon 
— I,  who  was  so  lately  their  benefactor  and  preserver ! 

So,  in  my  distress,  I  have  girt  myself  with  skins, 
and  retreated  to  this  far  corner ;  and  here  I  dig  the 
ground  for  four  obols  a  day, — and  talk  philosophy  to 
my  spade  and  myself.  One  point  I  think  T  gain  here; 
I  shall  no  longer  see  the  worthless  in  prosperity — for 
that  were  worse  to  bear  than  all.  Now  then,  Son  of 
Saturn  and  Ehea,  wake  up  at  last  from  this  long  deep 
slumber — for  you've  slept  longer  than  Epimenides  * — 

*  The  Rip  van  Winkle  of  classic  story.     He  is  said  to  have 
sought  shelter  in  a  cave  from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  while  keep- 


44  LUCIA  N. 

and  blow  your  thunderbolt  hot  again,  or  heat  it  afresh 
in  iEtna,  and  make  it  blaze  lustily,  and  show  a  little 
righteous  wrath,  worthy  of  the  Jove  of  younger  days  ; 
unless,  indeed,  that  be  a  true  story  which  the  Cretans 
tell,  and  you  be  dead  and  buried  too. 

Jupiter  (in  Olympus,  disturbed  by  Timon's  clamorous 
expostulations  below).  Who  in  the  world,  Mercury,  is 
this  fellow  that's  bawling  so  from  Attica,  down  at  the 
foot  of  Hymettus, — a  perfect  scarecrow,  he  looks,  in  a 
dirty  goat-skin?  Digging,  I  think  he  is,  by  his  stoop- 
ing posture.  He's  a  very  noisy  impudent  fellow. 
Some  philosopher,  I  fancy,  or  he  wouldn't  use  such 
blasphemous  language. 

Mercury.  What  do  you  say,  father?  don't  you 
know  Timon  of  Athens  ?  He's  the  man  who  so  often 
used  to  treat  us  with  such  magnificent  sacrifices  ;  that 
nouveau  riclte,  you  know,  who  used  to  offer  whole  heca- 
tombs ;  at  whose  expense  we  were  so  splendidly  enter- 
tained at  the  Diasia. 

Jup.  What  a  sad  reverse  of  fortune  !  That  fine, 
handsome,  rich  fellow,  who  had  used  to  have  such 
troops  of  friends  round  him  !  What  has  brought  him 
to  this  ? — so  squalid  and  miserable,  and  having  to  dig 
for  his  bread,  I  suppose,  by  the  way  he  drives  his 
spade  into  the  ground  1 

Mercury  proceeds  to  inform  his  father  that  Timon's 
reckless  generosity  has  reduced  him  to  poverty,  and 
that  all  the  friends  who  shared  his  bounty  have  now 

ing  liis  father's  sheep,  and  to  have  slept  there  for  fifty-seven 
years. 


THE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.  45 

deserted  him.  Ho  has  left  the  ungrateful  city  in 
disgust,  and  hired  himself  out  as  a  day-labourer 
in  the  country.  Jupiter,  however,  is  not  going  to 
follow  the  example  of  mankind,  and  neglect  the  man 
from  whom,  in  his  day  of  prosperity,  he  has  received 
so  many  favours.  He  is  sorry  that  his  case  has 
hitherto  escaped  his  notice;  but  really  the  noise  and 
clamour  those  Athenians  make  with  all  their  philoso- 
phical disputes  has  so  disgusted  him,  that  for  some 
time  he  has  not  turned  his  eyes  in  their  direction. 
"  Go  down  to  him  at  once,"  he  says  to  Mercury,  "and 
take  Plutus  with  you,  with  a  good  supply  of  money  ;  * 
and  let  Plutus  take  care  not  to  leave  him  again  so 
easily  as  he  did  before.  As  for  those  ungrateful  friends 
of  his,  they  shall  have  their  deserts,  as  soon  as  ever  I  can 
get  my  lightning  mended.  I  broke  two  of  my  strong- 
est bolts  the  other  day,  launching  them  in  a  passion 
against  Anaxagoras  the  Sophist,  who  was  teaching  his 
followers  that  Ave  gods  were  an  utter  impossibility  in 
the  nature  of  things.  I  missed  him  (Pericles  put  his 
hand  in  the  way),t  and  the  lightning  struck  the  tem- 
ple of  Castor,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  and  destroyed  it ; 
but  my  bolt  was  all  but  shivered  itself  against  the 

*  "  Plutus,  the  god  of  gold, 
Is  but  his  steward." 

— Shaksp.,  "Timon,"  act  i.  sc.  1. 

The  introduction  of  Plutus's  name  into  this  tragedy  makes  one 
curious  to  know  whether  the  author  was  acquainted  (through 
any  translation)  either  with  this  dialogue  of  Lucian's  or  with 
the  "  Plutus  "  of  Aristophanes. 

t  Anaxagoras,  when  accused  of  impiety  and  brought  to  trial, 
was  protected  by  Pericles,  who  had  been  his  pupil. 


46  L  TJC1A  N. 

rock  there.  However,  those  rascals  will  be  punished 
enough  for  the  present,  when  they  see  Timon  grown 
rich  again." 

Merc.  See  now,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  make  a 
clamour,  and  to  be  impudent  and  troublesome  !  I 
don't  mean  for  lawyers  only,  but  for  those  who  put  up 
prayers  to  heaven.  Here's  Timon  going  to  be  set  up 
again  as  a  rich  man  out  of  the  extreme  of  poverty,  all 
because  of  his  noise  and  bold  words  attracting  Jupiter's 
notice  !  If  he  had  bent  his  back  to  his  digging  in 
silence,  he  might  have  dug  on  till  doomsday  without 
Jupiter's  noticing  him.  (He  goes  off,  and  returns  icith 
Plutus.) 

Pluhis.  I  shan't  go  near  that  fellow,  Jupiter. 

Jnp.  How,  my  good  Plutus, — not  when  I  bid  you  ? 

Phi.  No.  He  insulted  me — turned  me  out  of  his 
house,  and  scattered  me  in  all  directions — me,  the 
old  friend  of  the  family — all  but  pitched  me  out  of 
doors,  as  if  I  burnt  his  fingers.  What !  go  back  to 
him,  to  be  thrown  to  his  parasites,  and  toadies,  and 
harlots?  No:  send  me  to  those  who  value  the  gift, 
who  will  make  much  of  me,  who  honour  me  and  desire 
my  company ;  and  let  all  those  fools  keep  house  still 
with  Poverty,  who  prefer  her  to  me.  Let  them  get 
her  to  give  them  a  spade  and  an  old  sheep-skin,  and  go 
dig  for  their  twopence  a-day,  after  squandering  thou- 
sands in  gifts  to  their  friends. 

Jup.  Timon  will  never  behave  so  to  you  again. 
His  spadedmsbandry  will  have  taught  him  pretty  well 
(unless  his  back's  made  of  stuff  that  can't  feel)  that 
you  are  to  be  preferred  tn  Povertv.     You're  rather  a 


TIIE  PAGAN  OLYMPUSt.  47 

discontented  personage,  too  :  you  blame  Timon  because 
be  opened  bis  doors  and  let  you  go  where  you  liked, 
and  neither  locked  you  up  nor  watched  you  jealously  ; 
whereas  at  otber  times  you  cry  out  against  tbe  rich, 
saying  that  they  confine  you  with  bolts  and  bars,  and 
put  seals  on  you,  so  that  you  never  get  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  daylight.  You  used  to  complain  to  me 
that  you  were  suffocated  in  the  dark  holes  they  kept 
you  in  ;  and  I  must  say  you  used  to  look  quite  pale 
and  careworn,  and  your  fingers  quite  contracted  from 
the  constant  habit  of  counting ;  and  you  often  threat- 
ened to  escape  from  such  confinement  the  moment  you 
had  a  chance. 

Plutus  replies  to  Jupiter  with  some  sensible  remarks 
as  to  there  being  a  mean  between  the  prodigal  and  the 
miser;  but  ho  consents  to  pay  Timon  a  visit  at  Jupi- 
ter's command,  though  feeling,  as  he  says,  that  he 
might  as  well  get  into  one  of  the  Danaids'  leaky  water- 
jars,  so  sure  is  he  to  filter  rapidly  through  the  hands  of 
such  a  master.  The  god  of  Eiches,  we  must  remember, 
is  blind;  and  Mercury,  who  has  to  escort  him  to 
Athens,  recommends  him  to  hold  fast  by  his  coat-tail 
all  the  way  down.  Jupiter  desires  his  messenger  to 
call  at  iEtna  on  his  way,  and  send  up  the  Cyclops  to 
mend  his  broken  thunderbolt. 

They  find  Timon  hard  at  work,  in  the  company  of 
Poverty.  But  she  has  brought  with  her  a  band  of 
other  companions  —  Labour,  and  Perseverance,  and 
"Wisdom,  and  Fortitude,  This  is  a  stronger  body- 
guard, as  Mercury  observes,  than  Plutus  ever  gathers 
round  him.     The  god  of  Eiches  confesses  it ;  he  can 


48  LUC1AN. 

be  of  no  service  to  a  man  who  has  such  friends  about 
him,  and  he  offers  to  begone  at  once.  But  Mercury 
reminds  him  of  the  will  of  Jove.  Poverty  pleads  ill 
vain  that  she  has  rescued  him  from  his  old  associates, 
Sloth  and  Luxury,  and  is  now  forming  him  to  virtue 
in  her  own  more  wholesome  school ;  and  though  Timon 
asks  with  some  roughness  to  be  left  still  under  her 
instruction,  and  bids  Plutus  begone  "  to  make  fools  of 
other  men  as  he  has  once  of  him,"  he  is  overruled  by 
Mercury's  appeal  to  his  sense  of  gratitude  to  Jupiter, 
who  has  taken  so  much  trouble  to  help  him.  Poverty 
reluctantly  takes  her  leave,  and  with  her  depart  Labour 
and  Wisdom  and  the  rest  of  her  company. 

Digging  on  in  the  earth  b}r  direction  of  Plutus, 
Timon  finds  an  immense  buried  treasure,  and  the  sight 
at  once  reawakens  his  love  of  riches.  But  it  now 
takes  another  and  more  selfish  form.  Henceforth  he 
will  live  for  himself  and  not  for  others,  and  become 
the  enemy  of  men  as  he  had  formerly  been  their  in- 
judicious friend.  The  name  which  he  desires  to  be 
known  by  is  that  of  "  The  Misanthrope."  *  The  com- 
panions of  his  former  days  of  splendour — who  had 
been  treated  by  him  with  such  munificence,  and  had 
repaid  him  with  such  ingratitude — hear  of  his  new 
wealth,  and  flock  to  him  to  make  their  excuses  and 
apologies,  to  tender  him  all  kinds  of  services,  and  to 
offer  him  public  honours,  if  he  will  only  give  them  a 
little  of  his  new  riches.  Blows  from  his  spade,  and 
showers  of  stones,  are  his  only  answer.     And  in  this 

*  "  1  am  Misanthropos,  and  hate  mankind." 

— Shaksp.,  "Timon,"  act  iv.  sc.  3. 


TEE  PAGAN  OLYMPUS.    „  49 

spirit  the  Dialogue  (which  concludes  somewhat  ab- 
ruptly) leaves  him. 

Timon  the  Misanthrope  was  probably  a  real  personage, 
round  whose  name  many  fictitious  anecdotes  gathered. 
Aristophanes  refers  to  him  more  than  once  in  his 
comedies  as  a  well-known  character  ;  Plato  mentions 
him,  and,  if  we  may  trust  Plutarch,  he  lived  about  the 
time  of  the  Peloponnesian  war.  This  latter  writer  speaks 
of  his  intimacy  with  the  Cynic  Apemantus,  introduced 
in  Shakspeare's  play,*  and  gives  us  an  anecdote  of  him 
in  connection  with  Alcibiades.  Apemantus,  we  are 
told,  asked  Timon  why  he  so  much  affected  the  com- 
pany of  that  young  gallant,  hating  all  other  men  as  ho 
professed  to  do  1  "  Because,"  replied  Timon,  "  I  fore- 
see that  he  shall  one  day  become  a  great  scourge  to 
those  I  hate  most — the  Athenians." 

*  Shakspeare's  play  is  founded  chiefly  on  the  twenty-eighth 
novel  in  Painter's  'Talace  of  Pleasure." 


A.  C.  vol.  xviii. 


CHAPTER   IH 

DIALOGUES     OP     THE     DEAD. 

Less  original  than  the  Olympian  Dialogues, — for  their 
idea  must  he  allowed  to  he  "borrowed  from  Homer, 
while  the  inclination  to  moralise  upon  the  vanity  of 
earthly  riches,  and  honours,  and  beauty,  and  the  work 
of  that  great  leveller  Death,  is  common  enough, — these 
have  perhaps  heen  even  more  popular.  An  imitation 
in  great  measure  themselves,  they  have  found  imitators 
amongst  the  moderns,  in  their  turn,  who  have  shown 
considerable  ability.  The  "  Dialogues  of  the  Dead ''  of 
Fontenelle  and  of  Lord  Lyttelton  still  find  readers, 
and  these  imitations  have  charmed  many  to  Avhom  the 
original  was  unknown  in  any  other  way  than  by  name.* 
The  Dialogues  of  Fenelon,  composed  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  his  pupil  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  were,  again, 
an  imitation  of  those  of  Fontenelle,  hut  are  somewhat- 
more  didactic,  as  we  should  expect,  and  less  lively. 
Eut  perhaps  the  most  striking  modern  work  for  the 

*  "The  dead,"  says  Fontenelle  in  his  preface,  "ought  to 
speak  wisely,  from  their  longer  experience  and  greater  leisure;  it 
is  to  he  hoped  that  they  take  rather  more  time  to  think  than  is 
usual  with  the  living." 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  51 

idea  of  ■which  we  are  indebted  to  the  Greek  satirist 
is  the  '  Imaginary  Conversations '  of  Walter  Savage 
Landor. 

Some  three  or  four  of  the  most  striking  of  this 
series  must  content  our  readers  here.  The  following, 
although  it  does  not  stand  first  in  the  common  order 
of  arrangement,  seems  to  form  the  hest  introduction  to 
the  series. 

CHARON    AND    HIS   TASSENGERS. 

Clmron.  Now  listen  to  me,  good  people — I'll  tell 
you  how  it  is.  The  boat  is  hut  small,  as  you  see,  and 
somewhat  rotten  and  leaky  withal:  and  if  the  weight 
gets  to  one  side,  over  we  go:  and  here  you  are  crowd- 
ing in  all  at  once,  and  with  lots  of  luggage,  every  one  of 
you.  If  you  come  on  hoard  here  with  all  that  lumber, 
I  suspect  you'll  repent  of  it  afterwards — especially  those 
who  can't  swim. 

Mercury.  What's  best  for  us  to  do  then,  to  get  safe 
across  ? 

Cha.  I'll  tell  you.  You  must  all  strip  before  you 
get  in,  and  leave  all  those  encumbrances  onshore:  and 
even  then  the  boat  will  scarce  hold  you  all.  And  you 
take  care,  Mercury,  that  no  soul  is  admitted  that  is 
not  in  light  marching  order,  and  who  has  not  left  all 
his  encumbrances,  as  I  say,  behind.  Just  stand  at 
the  gangway  and  overhaul  them,  and  don't  let  them 
get  in  till  they've  stripped. 

Marc.  Quite  right;  I'll  see  to  it. — Now,  who  comes 
first  here '] 

Menippus.  I — Menippus.     Look — I've  pitched  my 


52  LUCIAN. 

wallet  and  staff  into  the  lake ;  my  coat,  luckily,  I  didn't 
bring  with  me. 

Merc.  Get  in,  Menippus — you're  a  capital  fellow. 
Take  the  best  seat  there,  in  the  stern-sheets,  next  the 
steersman,  and  watch  who  gets  on  board. — Now,  who's 
this  fine  gentleman  1 

Charmolaus.  I'm  Charmolaus  of  Megara — a  general 
favourite.  Many  a  lady  would  give  fifty  guineas  for  a 
kiss  from  me. 

Merc.  You'll  have  to  leave  your  pretty  face,  and 
those  valuable  lips,  and  your  long  curls  and  smooth 
skin  behind  you,  that's  all.  Ah  !  now  you'll  do — 
you're  all  right  and  tight  now :  get  in. — But  you,  sir, 
there,  in  the  purple  and  the  diadem, — who  are  you  1 

Lampichus.  Lampichus,  king  of  Gelo. 

Merc.  And  what  d'ye  mean  by  coming  herewith  all 
that  trumpery  ? 

Lamp.  How  ?  "Would  it  be  seemly  for  a  king  to 
come  here  unrobed  1 

Merc.  Well,  for  a  king,  perhaps  not — but  for  a  dead 
man,  certainly.     So  put  it  all  off. 

Lamp.  There — I've  thrown  my  riches  away. 

Merc.  Yes — and  throw  away  your  pride  too,  and 
your  contempt  for  other  people.  You'll  infallibly 
swamp  the  boat  if  you  bring  all  that  in. 

Lamp.  Just  let  me  keep  my  diadem  and  mantle. 

Merc.  Impossible — off  with  them  too. 

Lamp.  Well — anything  more?  because  I've  thrown 
them  all  off,  as  you  see. 

Merc.  Your  cruelty — and  your  folly — and  your  in- 
solence— and  bad  temper— off  with  them  all ! 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  BEAD.  53 

Lamp.  There,  then — I'm  stripped  entirely. 

Merc.  Very  well — get  in. — And  you  fat  fellow,  who 
are  you,  with  all  that  flesh  on  you? 

Damasias.  Damasias,  the  athlete. 

Merc.  Ay,  you  look  like  him  :  I  rememher  having 
seen  you  in  the  games. 

Dam.  (smiling).  Yes,  Mercury;  take  me  on  board 
— I'm  ready  stripped,  at  any  rate. 

Merc.  Stripped?  Nay,  my  good  sir,  not  with  all 
that  covering  of  flesh  on  you.  You  must  get  rid  of 
that,  or  you'll  sink  the  boat  the  moment  you  set  your 
other  foot  in.  Ami  you  must  take  off  your  garlands 
and  trophies  too. 

Dam.  Then  —  now  I'm  really  stripped,  and  not 
heavier  than  these  other  dead  gentlemen. 

Merc.  All  right — the  lighter  the  better  :  get  in. 

[In  like  manner  the  patrician  has  to  lay  aside  his 
noble  birth,  his  public  honours,  and  statues,  and  tes- 
timonials—  the  very  thought  of  them,  Mercury  de- 
clares, is  enough  to  sink  the  boat ;  and  the  general 
is  made  to  leave  behind  him  all  his  victories  and 
trophies — in  the  realms  of  the  dead  there  is  peace. 
Next  comes  the  philosopher's  turn. J 

Merc.  Who's  this  pompous  and  conceited  person- 
age, to  judge  from  his  looks — he  with  the  knitted 
eyebrows  there,  and  lost  in  meditation — that  fellow 
with  the  long  beard  1 

Men.  One  of  those  philosophers,  Mercury — or  rather 
those  cheats  and  charlatans :  make  him  strip  too ; 
you'll  find  some  curious  things  hid  under  that  cloak 
of  his. 


54  lucia  jr. 

Merc.  Take  your  habit  off,  to  begin  with,  if  you 
please  —  and  now  all  that  you  bave  there,  —  great 
Jupiter !  what  a  lot  of  humbug  he  was  bringing 
with  him — and  ignorance,  and  disputatiousness,  and 
vainglory,  and  useless  questions,  and  prickly  argu- 
ments, and  involved  statements, —  ay,  and  wasted 
ingenuity,  and  solemn  trilling,  and  quips  and  quirks 
of  all  kinds!  Yes — -by  Jove!  and  there  are  gold 
pieces  there,  and  impudence  and  luxury  and  de- 
bauchery— oh  !  I  see  them  all,  though  you  are  try- 
ing to  hide  them  !  And  your  lies,  and  pomposity, 
and  thinking  yourself  better  than  everybody  else — 
away  with  all  that,  I  say  !  Why,  if  you  bring  all 
that  aboard,  a  fifty-oared  galley  wouldn't  hold  you  ! 

Philosopher.  Well,  I'll  leave  it  all  behind  then,  if 
I  must. 

Men.  But  make  him  take  his  beard  off  too,  Master 
Mercury ;  it's  heavy  and  bushy,  as  you  see ;  there's 
five  pound  weight  of  hair  there,  at  the  very  least. 

Merc;  You're  right.     Take  it  off,  sir  ! 

Phil.   But  who  is  there  who  can  shave  me  1 

Merc.  Menippus  there  will  chop  it  off  with  the 
boat-hatchet — he  can  have  the  gunwale  for  a  chop- 
ping-block. 

Men.  Nay,  Mercury,  lend  us  a  saw — it  will  be  more 
fun. 

Merc.  Oh,  the  hatchet  will  do  !  So — that's  well ; 
now  you've  got  rid  of  your  goatishness,  you  look 
something  more  like  a  man. 

Men,   Shall  I  chop  a  bit  off  his  eyebrows  as  Avell  1 

Merc,  By  all  means ;  he  has  stuck  them  up  on  his 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.    „  55 

forehead,  to  make  himself  look  grander,  I  suppose. 
What's  the  matter  now?  You're  crying,  you  rascal, 
are  you — afraid  of  death  ?  Make  haste  on  board,  will 
you  ? 

Men.  He's  got  something  now  under  his  arm. 

Merc.  What  is  it,  Menippus  ? 

Men.  Flattery  it  is,  Mercury — and  a  very  profitable 
article  he  found  it,  while  he  was  alive. 

Philosopher  (in  a  fury).  And  you,  Menippus — 
leave  your  lawless  tongue  behind  you,  and  your 
cursed  independence,  and  mocking  laugh  ;  you're  tho 
only  one  of  the  party  who  dares  laugh. 

Merc,  (laughing).  No,  no,  Menippus  —  they're 
very  light,  and  take  little  room ;  besides,  they  are 
good  things  on  a  voyage.  But  you,  Mr  Orator  there, 
throw  away  your  rhetorical  flourishes,  and  antitheses, 
and  parallelisms,  and  barbarisms,  and  all  that  heavy 
wordy  gear  of  yours. 

Orator.  There,  then — there  they  go  ! 

Merc.  All  right.  Now  then,  slip  the  moorings. 
Haul  that  plank  aboard — up  anchor,  and  make  sail. 
Mind  your  helm,  master !  And  a  good  voyage  to 
us  t — What  are  you  howling  about,  you  fools  ?  You, 
Philosopher,  specially?  Now  that  you've  had  your 
beard  cropped? 

Phil.  Because,  dear  Mercury,  I  always  thought  the 
soul  had  been  immortal. 

Men.  He's  lying  !  It's  something  else  that  troubles 
him,  most  likely. 

Merc.  What's  that? 
•    Men.  That  he  shall  have  no  more  expensive  suppers 


56  LUCIAN. 

— nor,  after  spending  all  the  night  in  debauchery,  pro- 
fess to  lecture  to  the  young  men  on  moral  philosophy 
in  the  morning,  and  take  pay  for  it.  That's  what 
vexes  him. 

Phil,  And  you,  Menippus — are  jrou  not  sorry  to  die? 

Men.  How  should  I  he,  when  I  hastened  to  death 
without  any  call  to  it?  But,  while  Ave  are  talking, 
don't  you  hear  a  noise  as  of  some  people  shouting 
on  the  earth? 

Merc.  Yes,  I  do — and  from  more  than  one  quarter. 
There's  a  public  rejoicing  yonder  for  the  death  of 
Lampichus ;  and  the  women  have  seized  his  wife, 
and  the  boys  are  stoning  his  children ;  and  in  Sicyon 
they  are  all  praising  Diophantus  the  orator  for  his 
funeral  oration  upon  Crato  here.  Yes  —  and  there 
is  Damasias's  mother  wailing  for  him  amongst  her 
women.  But  there's  not  a  soul  weeping  for  you, 
Menippus — you're  lying  all  alone. 

Men.  Not  at  all  —  you'll  hear  the  dogs  howling 
over  me  presently,  and  the  ravens  mournfully  flapping 
their  wings,  when  they  gather  to  my  funeral. 

Merc.  Stoutly  said.  But  here  Ave  are  at  the  land- 
ing-place. March  off,  all  of  you,  to  the  judgment- 
seat  straight ;  I  and  the  ferryman  must\go  and  fetch 
a  fresh  batch.  \ 

Men.  A  pleasant  trip  to  you,  Mercury.  So  we'll  be 
moving  on.  Come,  what  are  you  all  dawdling  for? 
You've  got  to  be  judged,  you  know ;  and  the  punish- 
ments, they  tell  me,  are  frightful — wheels,  and  stones, 
and  vultures.  Every  man's  life  will  be  strictly  in- 
quired into,  I  can  tell  you. 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  57 

The  Cynic  Menippus,  introduced  to  us  in  this 
amusing  dialogue, —  "a  dog  of  the  real  old  breed,"  as 
Lucian  calls  him,  "always  ready  to  hark  and 
bite  "* —  is  a  great  favourite  with  the  author,  .and  re- 
appears very  frequently  in  these  imaginary  conversa- 
tions. He  was  a  disciple  of  Diogenes,  and  had  been 
a  usurer  in  earlier  life,  but  having  lost  his  wealth 
by  the  roguery  of  others,  at  last  committed  suicide. 
The  banter  with  which  he  treats  Charon  in  the  little 
dialogue  which  follows  is  very  humorous. 


CHARON   AND   MENIPPUS. 

Cliaron  (calling  after  Menippus,  who  is  walking  off). 
Pay  me  your  fare,  you  rascal ! 

Menippus.  Bawd  away,  Charon,  if  it's  any  satisfac- 
tion to  you. 

Cha.  Pay  me,  I  say,  for  carrying  you  across  ! 

Men.  You  can't  get  money  from  a  man  who  hasn't 
got  ifc-=~--  --' 

Cha.  Is  there  any  man  who  has  not  got  an  obolus? 

Men.  I  know  nothing  about  anybody  else ;  I  know 
I  haven't. 

Cha.  (catching  hold  of  him).  I'll  strangle  you,  you 
villain  !     I  will,  by  Pinto  !  if  you  don't  pay. 

Men.  And  I'll  break  your  head  with  my  staff. 

Cha.  Do  you  suppose  you  are  to  have  such  a  long 
trip  for  nothing] 

*  The  term  "  Cynic,"  applied  to  that  school  of  philosophy,  is 
derived  from  the  Greek  for  "dog." 


58  L  UCIA  N. 

Men.  Let  Mercury  pay  for  me,  then  ;  it  was  lie  put 
rue  on  board. 

Mercury.  A  very  profitable  job  for  rne,  by  Jove  !  if 
I'm  to  pay  for  all  the  dead  people. 

Clia.  (to  Men).  I  shan't  let  you  go. 

Men.  You  can  haul  your  boat  ashore,  then,  for  that 
matter,  and  wait  as  loug  as  you  please ;  but  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  take  from  me  what  I  don't  possess. 

Cha.  Didn't  you  know  you  had  to  pay  it  % 

Men.  I  knew  well  enough  ;  but  I  tell  you  I  hadn't 
got  it.    Is  a  man  not  to  die  because  he  has  no  money  1 

Cha.  Are  you  to  be  the  only  man,  then,  who  can 
boast  that  he  has  crossed  the  Styx  gratis1? 

Men.  Gratis  1  Not  at  all,  my  good  friend, — when  I 
baled  the  boat,  and  helped  you  with  the  oar,  and  was 
the  onty  man  on  board  that  didn't  howl. 

Cha.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  passage- 
money  ;  you  must  pay  your  obolus.  It's  against  all 
our  rules  to  do  otherwise. 

Men.  Then  take  me  back  to  life  acrain. 

Cha.  Yes — a  fine  proposal — that  I  may  get  a  whip- 
ping from  iEacus  for  it. 

Men.  Then  don't  bother. 

Cha.  Show  me  what  you've  got  in  your  -scrip  there. 

Men.  Lentils,  if  you  please,  and  a  bit  of  supper  for 
Hecate. 

Cha.  (turning  to  Mercury  in  despair).  Where  on 
earth  did  you  bring  this  dog  of  a  Cynic  from,  Mercury? 
— chattering,  as  he  did,  all  the  way  across,  cutting  his 
jokes  and  laughing  at  the  other  passengers,  and  sing- 
ing while  they  were  all  bemoaning  themselves. 


DIALOGUES   OF  THE  DEAD.  59 

Mere.  Didn't  you  know,  Charon,  who  your  passenger 
wus1?  A  most  independent  fellow,  who  cares  for  no- 
body.    That's  Menippus. 

Cha.  {shaking  his  fist  at  him  as  he  moves  off).  Well, 
let  me  only  catch  you  again  ! 

Men.  (looking  bach  and  laughing).  Ay,  if  you  catch 
me  ;  but  'tis  hardly  likely,  my  good  friend,  that  you'll 
have  me  for  a  passenger  twice. 

MKUCURY  AND   CHARON   SQUARING   ACCOUNTS. 

Mercury.  Let  us  have  a  reckoning,  if  you  phase, 
Mr  Ferryman,  how  much  you  owe  me  up  to  this 
present  date,  that  we  mayn't  have  a  squabble  here- 
after ahout  the  items. 

Charon.  By  all  means,  Mercury — nothing  like  being 
correct  in  such  matters;  it  saves  a  world  of  unpleasant- 
ness. 

Merc.  T  supplied  an  anchor  to  your  order — twenty- 
five  drachmae. 

Cha.  That's  very  dear. 

Mi  re.  I  vow  to  Pluto  I  gave  five  for  it.  And  a 
rowdock  thong — two  obols. 

Cha.   Well,  put  down  five  drachma}  and  two  obols. 

Merc.  And  a  needle  to  mend  the  sail.  Tive  obols 
I  paid  for  that. 

Cha.   Well,  put  that  much  down  too. 

Mere.  Then,  there's  the  wax  for  caulking  the  seams 
of  the  boat  that  Avere  open,  and  nails,  and  a  rope  to 
make  halyards  of,— -two  drachma?  altogether. 

Cha.  Ay  ;  you  bought  those  worth  the  money. 

Merc.  That's  all,  if  I've  not  forgotten  something  in 


GO  LUCIAX. 

my  account.  And  now,  when  do  you  propose  to  pay 
me? 

Cha.  It's  out  of  my  power,  Mercury,  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  hut  if  a  pestilence  or  a  war  should  send  people 
down  here  in  considerable  numbers,  you  can  make  a 
good  thing  of  it  then  hy  a  little  cheating  in  the  pass- 
age-money. 

Merc.  So  I  may  go  to  sleep  at  present,  and  put  up 
prayers  for  all  kinds  of  horrible  things  to  happen,  that 
I  may  get  my  dues  thereby  ? 

Cha.  I've  no  other  way  of  paying  you,  Mercury, 
indeed.  At  present,  as  you  see,  very  few  come  our 
way.      It's  a  time  of  peace,  you  know. 

Merc.  Well,  so  much  the  better,  even  if  I  have  to 
wait  for  my  money  a  while.  But  those  men  in  the 
good  old  times — ah !  you  remember,  Charon,  what  fine 
fellows  used  to  come  here, — good  warriors  all,  covered 
with  blood  and  wounds,  most  of  them!  Now,  'tis 
either  somebody  who  has  been  poisoned  by  his  son 
or  his  wife,  or  with  his  limbs  and  carcase  bloated  by 
gluttony, — pale  spiritless  wretches  all  of  them,  not  a 
whit  like  the  others.  Most  of  them  come  here  owing 
to  their  attempts  to  overreach  each  other  in  money 
matters,  it  seems  to  me. 

Cha.  Why,  money  is  certainly  a  very  desirable 
thing. 

Merc.  Then  don't  think  me  unreasonable,  if  you 
please,  if  I  look  sharp  after  your  little  debt  to  me. 


When  the  Cynic  philosopher   has  been  admitted 


DIALOGUES  OF   THE  DEAD.  Gl 

into  the  region  of  shadows,  lie  makes  himself  very 
much  at  home  there.  In  another  of  these  dialogues 
he  cross-examines  all  the  officials  whom  he  meets, 
with  the  air  of  a  traveller  anxious  for  information  ; 
and  his  caustic  wit  does  not  spare  the  dead  a  whit 
more  than  it  had  spared  the  living.  He  hegs  iEacus 
to  show  him  some  of  "the  lions"  in  this  new  region. 
He  professes  great  surprise  at  seeing  the  figures  which 
once  were  Agamemnon,  Ajax,  and  Achilles,  now  mere 
hones  and  dust ;  and  asks  to  be  allowed  just  to  give 
Sardanapalus,  whom  the  Cynic  hates  especially  for  his 
luxury  and  debauchery,  a  slap  in  the  face ;  but  iEacus 
assures  him  that  his  skull  is  as  brittle  as  a  woman's. 
Even  the  wise  men  and  philosophers,  he  finds,  cut  no 
better  figure  here.  "  Where  is  Socrates  1 "  he  asks  his 
guide.  "  You  see  that  bald  man  yonder  1 "  says  ^acus. 
"  Why,  they  are  all  bald  alike  here,"  replies  Menippus. 
"Him  with  the  flat  nose,  I  mean."  "They've  all  Hat 
noses,"  replies  Menippus  again,  looking  at  the  hollow 
skulls  round  him.  But  Socrates,  hearing  the  inquiry, 
answers  for  himself ;  and  the  new-comer  into  the  lower 
world  is  able  to  assure  the  great  Athenian  that  all  men 
now  admit  his  claim  to  universal  knowledge,  which 
rests,  in  fact,  on  the  one  ground  of  being  conscious 
that  man  knows  really  nothing.  But  he  learns  some- 
thing more  about  the  Master  of  the  Sophists  from  a 
little  dialogue  which  he  has  with  Cerberus. 

MENIl'PUS   AND   CEKBEItUS. 

Menippns.  I  say,  Cerberus    (I'm  a  kind  of  cousin 


62  LUC  IAN. 

of  yours,  you  know — they  call  me  a  dog),  tell  me,  "by 
the  holy  Styx,  how  did  Socrates  behave  himself  when 
he  came  down  among  ye?  I  suppose,  as  you're  a  di- 
vinity, you  can  not  only  hark,  but  talk  like  a  human 
creature,  if  you  like  ? 

Cerberus  {growling).  Well,  when  he  was  some  way 
off,  he  came  on  with  a  perfectly  unmoved  countenance, 
appearing  to  have  no  dread  at  all  of  death,  and  to  wish 
to  make  that  plain  to  those  who  stood  outside  the 
gates  here.  But  when  once  he  got  within  the  archway 
of  tbe  Shades,  and  saw  the  gloom  and  darkness;  and 
when,  as  he  seemed  to  be  lingering,  I  bit  him  on  the 
foot  (just  to  help  the  hemlock),  and  dragged  him  down, 
he  shrieked  out  like  a  child,  and  began  to  lament  over 
his  family  and  all  sorts  of  things. 

Men.  So  the  man  was  but  a  sophist  after  all,  and 
had  no  real  contempt  for  death  1 

Cerb.  Xo;  but  when  he  saw  it  must  come,  he  steeled 
himself  to  meet  it,  professing  to  suffer  not  unwillingly 
what  he  must  needs  have  suffered  anyhow,  that  so  he 
might  win  the  admiration  of  the  bystanders.  In  short, 
I  could  tell  you  much  the  same  story  of  all  those  kind 
of  people  :  up  to  the  gate  they  are  stout-hearted  and 
bold  enough,  but  it  is  when  they  get  within  that  the 
trial  comes. 

Men.  And  how  did  you  think  I  behaved  when  I 
came  down? 

Cerb.  You  were  the  only  man,  Menippus,  who  be- 
haved worthy  of  your  profession — you  and  Diogenes 
before  you.  You  both  came  here  by  no  force  or  com- 
pulsion, but  of  your  own  accord,  laughing  all  the  way, 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD,  63 

and  bidding  the  others  who  came  with  you  howl  and 
be  hanged  to  them. 


The  reflections  which  Lucian  has  put  into  the  mouth 
of  the  Cynic  in  the  following  brief  dialogue  are  of  a 
graver  kind. 

MENIPPUS  AND   MERCURY. 

Menlppus.  I  say,  Mercury,  where  are  all  the  hand- 
some men  and  women?  Come — show  me  about  a 
little,  I  am  quite  a  stranger  here. 

Mercury.  I  haven't  time,  really.  But  look  yonder, 
on  your  right ;  there  are  Hyacinthus,  and  Narcissus, 
and  Nireus,  and  Achilles, — and  Tyro,  and  Helen,  and 
Leda ;  and,  in  short,  all  the  celebrated  beauties. 

Men.  I  can  see  nought  but  bones  and  bare  skulls, — 
all  very  much  alike. 

Merc.  Yet  all  the  poets  have  gone  into  raptures 
about  those  very  bones  which  you  seem  to  look  upon 
with  such  contempt. 

Men.  Anyway,  show  me  Helen;  for  I  shoidd  never 
be  able  to  make  her  out  from  the  rest. 

Merc.  This  skull  is  Helen.* 

Men.  And  it  was  for  this  that  a  thousand  ships 
were  manned  from  all  Greece,  and  so  many  Greeks  and 
Trojans  died  in  battle,  and  so  many  towns  were  laid 
waste  ! 

*  "Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  tell  her,  let  her 
paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favour  she  must  come." — Hamlet, 
act  v.  sc.  1 


G4     v.  LUC  I  AX. 

Merc.  Ay,  "but  you  never  saw  the  lady  alive,  Men- 
ippus,  or  you  would  surely  have  said  Avith  Homer,— 

"  No  marvel  Trojans  and  the  well-armed  Greeks 
For  such  a  woman  should  long  toils  endure  : 
Like  the  immortal  goddesses  is  she."  * 

If  one  looks  at  withered  flowers  which  have  lost 
their  colour,  of  course  they  seem  to  have  no  beauty  ; 
hut  when  they  are  in  bloom,  and  have  all  their  natural 
tints,  they  are  very  beautiful  to  see. 

Men.  Still  I  do  wonder,  Mercury,  that  the  Greeks 
should  never  have  bethought  themselves  that  they  were 
quarrelling  for  a  thing  that  was  so  short-lived,  and 
would  perish  so  soon. 

Merc.  I  have  really  no  leisure  for  moralising,  my 
good  Menippus.  So  pick  out  a  spot  for  yourself,  and 
lay  yourself  down  quietly  ;  I  must  go  and  fetch  some 
more  dead  people. 

DIOGENES   AND   MAUSOLTJS. 

Diogenes.  Prithee,  my  Carian  friend,  why  do  you  give 
yourself  such  airs,  and  claim  precedence  of  all  of  us  ] 

Mausolus.  In  the  first  place,  my  friend  of  Sinope, 
"by  reason  of  my  royal  estate ;  I  was  king  of  all  Caria, 
ruled  over  much  of  Lydia,  reduced  several  of  the 
islands,  advanced  as  far  as  Miletus,  and  subdued  most 
part  of  Ionia.  Then,  because  I  was  handsome  and 
tall,  and  a  good  warrior.  Most  of  all,  because  I  have 
a  magnificent  monument  set  up  over  me  at  Halicar- 

*  Horn.,  II.  iii.  156. 


DIALOGUES  OF  TEE  DEAD.  65 

nassus, — no  man  that  ever  died  has  the  like  ;  so  beau- 
tifully is  it  finished,  men  and  liorses  sculptured  to  the 
life  out  of  the  finest  marble  :  you  can  scarce  find  even 
a  temple  like  it.  Don't  you  think  I  have  a  right  to  be 
proud  of  all  this  1 

Diog.  Because  of  your  kingdom,  you  say  ? — and  your 
fine  person, — and  the  great  weight  of  your  tomb? 

Maus.  Yes;  that  is  what  I  am  proud  of. 

Diog.  But,  my  handsome  friend  (ha-ha!),  you  haven't 
much  left  of  that  strength  and  beauty  that  you  talk 
about.  If  we  asked  any  one  to  decide  between  our 
claims  to  good  looks,  I  don't  see  why  they  should  pre- 
fer your  skull  to  mine.  Both  of  us  are  bald  and  naked, 
— both  of  us  show  our  teeth  a  good  deal, — neither  of 
us  have  any  eyes, — and  our  noses  are  both  rather  flat. 
The  tomb,  indeed,  and  the  marble  statues,  the  men  of 
Halicarnassus  may  show  to  their  visitors,  and  boast  of 
them  as  ornaments  of  their  land  ;  but  as  to  you,  my 
good  friend,  I  don't  see  what  good  your  monument 
does  you :  unless  you  may  say  this — that  you  bear  a 
greater  weight  upon  you  than  I  do,  pressed  down  as 
you  are  by  all  those  heavy  stones. 

Maus.  Are  none  of  my  glories  to  profit  me,  then? 
And  are  Mausolus  and  Diogenes  to  stand  here  on  equal 
terms  1 

Diog.  No ;  not  exactly  equal,  most  excellent  sir ; 
not  at  all.  Mausolus  has  to  lament  when  he  remem- 
bers his  earthly  lot,  how  happy  he  was, — and  Diogenes 
can  laugh  at  him.  And  Mausolus  can  say  how  he 
had  the  tomb  built  for  him  at  Halicarnassus  by  his 
wife  and  sister ;  while  Diogenes  does  not  know — and 

a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  E 


66  L  UCIA  N. 

does  not  care — -whether  his  hody  had  any  "burial  at  all, 
but  can  say  that  he  left  behind  him  the  reputation 
among  the  wise  of  having  lived  a  life  worthy  of  a  man, 
— a  loftier  monument,  base  Carian  slave,  than  yours, 
and  built  on  a  far  safer  foundation. 


In  another  dialogue  Diogenes  talks  in  the  same  strain 
to  Alexander,  and  recommends  the  "waters  of  Lethe  as 
the  only  remedy  for  the  sad  regrets  -which  those  must 
feel,  who  have  exchanged  the  glories  of  earth  for  the 
cold  and  dreary  equality  which  reigns  among  the  dead 
below — a  passionless  and  objectless  existence,  in  which 
none  but  the  bitterest  Cynic,  who  rejoices  in  the  dis- 
comfiture of  all  earthly  ambitions,  can  take  any  plea- 
sure. So  also  Achilles,  in  a  dialogue  with  the  young 
Antilochus — a  premature  visitor  to  these  gloomy  re- 
gions— repeats  the  melancholy  wish  which  Homer  has 
put  into  his  mouth  in  the  Odyssey — 

\l  Rather  would  I  in  the  sun's  warmth  divine 
'  Serve  a  poor  churl  who  drags  his  days  in  grief, 
Than  the  whole  lordship  ol  the  dead  were  mine."  * 

Such  is  the  tone  of  these  Dialogues  throughout, — a 
grim  despair  disclosing  itself  through  their  cynical 
levity.  Whatever  the  "  Elysian  Fields  "  of  the  poets 
might  be,  the  satirist  gives  us  no  glimpse  of  them. 
All  whom  the  new  visitors  meet  are  in  tears, — except 
the  infants.  In  one  scene,  Diogenes  remarks  a  poor 
decrepit   old    man  weeping   bitterly.      To   him,   one 

*  Horn.,  Odyss.  xi.  (Worsley). 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  67 

would  think,  the  change  could  have  been  not  so  very 
sad.  Was  he  a  king  on  earth  ?  No.  Or  a  man  of 
rank  and  wealth?  "No,"  is  the  reply;  "I  was  in 
my  ninetieth  year,  and  miserably  poor  ;  I  had  to  earn 
my  bread  by  fishing.  I  had  no  children  to  succour 
me,  and  I  was  lame  and  blind."  "What!"  says  the 
philosopher,  "  in  such  a  case,  could  you  really  -wish  to 
have  life  prolonged?"  "  Ay,"  replies  the  old  fisher- 
man, echoing  the  thought  of  the  great  Achilles — "  Ay, 
life  is  sweet,  and  death  terrible." 

THE    TYRANT. 

Although  this  is  not  classed  amongst  the  "  Dialogues 
of  the  Dead,"  there  seems  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
find  a  place  among  them.  Charon  and  his  ghostly 
freight  are  a  favourite  subject  for  Lucian's  satire,  and 
he  has  here  introduced  them  again  in  a  dramatic  scene 
of  considerably  more  length  than  any  of  the  preceding. 
The  sparkling  humour  of  the  introduction  gives  addi- 
tional force  to  the  serious  moral  of  the  close. 

CHARON,    CLOTHO,    MERCURY,    ETC. 

Charon.  Well,  Clotho,  here's  the  boat  all  a-taut,  and 
everything  ready  for  crossing ;  we've  pumped  out  the 
water,  and  stepped  the  mast,  and  hoisted  the  sail — the 
oars  are  in  their  row-locks,  and,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, nothing  hinders  us  from  weighing  anchor  and 
setting  ofF.  And  that  Mercury  is  keeping  me  waiting — 
he  ought  to  have  been  here  long  ago.  The  boat  lies  here 
empty  still,  you  see,  when  we  might  have  made  three 
trips  already  to-day  ;  and  now  it's  almost  evening,  and 


68  LVCIAN. 

we  haven't  earned  a  penny  yet.  And  I  know  Pluto 
will  think  it's  all  my  laziness,  whereas  the  fault  lies  in 
quite  another  quarter.  That  blessed  ghost-conductor 
of  ours  has  been  drinking  the  waters  of  Lethe  himself, 
I  suppose,  and  has  forgot  to  come  back.  He's  most 
likely  wrestling  with  the  young  men,  or  playing  on  his 
lyre, — or  holding  an  argument,  to  show  his  subtle  wit. 
Or  very  possibly  my  gentleman  is  doing  a  little  thieving 
somewhere  on  the  road,  for  that's  one  of  his  many  ac- 
complishments. He  takes  considerable  liberties  with  us, 
I  must  say,  considering  that  he's  half  our  servant. 

Clotho.  You  don't  know,  Charon,  but  that  he  has 
been  hindered  in  some  way  ;  Jupiter  may  have  wanted 
him  for  some  extra  work  up  above ;  lie's  his  master 
too,  you  see.* 

Clia.  But  he  has  no  right  to  get  more  than  his  share 
of  work  out  of  our  common  property,  Clotho  :  /  never 
keep  him,  when  it's  his  time  to  go.  But  I  know  what 
it  is  ;  with  us  he  gets  nothing  but  asphodel,  and  liba- 
tions, and  salt-cake,  and  such  funeral  fare — all  the  rest 
is  gloom,  and  fog,  and  darkness  ;  while  in  heaven  'tis  all 
brightness,  and  lots  of  ambrosia,  and  nectar  in  abund- 
ance ;  so  I  suppose  he  finds  it  pleasanter  to  spend  his 
time  up  there.  He  flies  away  from  here  fast  enough,  as 
if  he  were  escaping  out  of  prison  ;  but  when  the  hour 
comes  for  him  to  return,  he  moves  very  leisurely,  and 
takes  his  time  on  the  road  down. 

*  The  many  offices  of  Mercury  were  a  favourite  subject  of 
jest  with  Aristophanes  as  well  as  with  Lucian.  Some  figures  of 
the  god  represented  him  witli  his  face  painted  half  black  and 
hall'  white,  to  signify  his  double  occupation,  above  and  below. 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  GO 

Clo.  Don't  put  yourself  in  a  passion,  Charon  ;  look, 
here  he  comes,  close  by,  bringing  a  large  company  with 
him — driving  them  before  him,  I  should  rather  say, 
with  his  rod,  like  a  flock  of  goats.  But  what's  this? 
I  see  one  of  the  party  with  his  hands  tied,  and  another 
laughing,  and  another  with  a  wallet  on  his  back  and  a 
club  in  his  hand,  looking  very  savage,  and  hurrying 
the  rest  on.  And  don't  you  see  how  Mercury  himself 
is  actually  running  down  with  sweat,  and  how  dusty 
his  feet  are ;  he's  quite  out  of  breath,  panting,  with 
his  mouth  open.  —  What's  the  matter,  Mercury  ? 
What  are  you  so  hurried  about?  You  seem  quite 
done  up. 

{Enter  Mercury,  very  hot,  with  a  large  comjjany 
of  Ghosts.) 

M<tc.  Matter,  Clotho  ?  Why,  I've  been  hunting  this 
runaway  here,  till  I  suppose  you  thought  I  had  run 
away  myself  to-day,  and  deserted  my  ship. 

Clo.  Who  is  he?  and  what  did  he  want  to  run 
away  for? 

Merc.  That's  plain  enough — because  he  wanted  to 
live  a  little  longer.  He's  a  king  or  a  tyrant  of  some 
sort,  and  from  what  I  can  make  out  from  his  bowlings 
and  lamentations,  he  complains  that  he  is  being  taken 
away  from  a  position  of  great  enjoyment. 

Clo.  So  the  fool  tried  to  run  away,  did  he? — when 
the  thread  of  his  life  Avas  already  spun  out ! 

Merc.  Tried  to  run  away,  did  you  say  ?  Why,  unless 
that  stout  fellow  there,  he  with  the  club,  had  helped 
me,  so  that  we  contrived  between  us  to  catch  him  and 


70  LUCIAN. 

tie  him,  he  would  have  got  clean  off.  From  the  mo- 
ment that  Atropos  handed  him  over  to  me,  he  did 
nothing  hut  kick  and  struggle  all  the  way,  and  stuck 
his  heels  in  the  ground,  so  that  it  was  very  hard  to 
get  him  along.  Then  sometimes  he  would  heg  and 
pray  me  to  let  him  go — just  fur  a  little  hit — offering 
me  ever  so  much  money.  But  I,  as  was  my  duty,  re- 
fused— especially  as  it  was  impossible.  But  Avhen  we 
got  just  to  the  entrance,  and  I  was  counting  over  the 
dead,  as  usual,  to  iEacus,  and  he  was  checking  them 
off  by  the  list  which  your  sister  had  sent  him,  lo  and 
behold  !  this  rascal  had  got  off  somehow  or  other,  and 
was  missing.  So  there  was  one  dead  man  short  of  the 
count.  yEacus  frowned  at  me  awfully.  "  Don't  try 
your  cheating  game  here,  Mercury,"  says  he, — "  it's 
quite  enough  to  play  such  tricks  up  above  ;  here  in 
the  Shades  we  keep  strict  accounts,  and  you  can't  hum- 
bug lis.  A  thousand  and  four,  you  observe,  my  list 
has  marked  on  it ;  and  you  come  here  bringing  me  one 
too  few — unless  you  please  to  say  that  Atropos  cheated 
you  in  the  reckoning."  I  quite  blushed  at  his  words, 
and  recollected  at  once  what  had  happened  on  the  road  ; 
and  when  I  cast  my  eyes  round  and  couldn't  see  that 
wretch,  I  knew  he  had  escaped,  and  ran  back  after  him 
all  the  way,  towards  daylight,  and  that  excellent  fellow 
there  went  with  me,  of  his  own  accord ;  and  by  run- 
ning like  race-horses  we  caught  him  just  at  Tamarus* 
— so  near  he  was  getting  away. 

*  At  which  spot   there   was    one   of  the   reputed   descent* 
to  the  Shades. 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  71 

The  Ferryman  desires  them  to  waste  no  more  time 
now  in  chattering,  and  proposes  to  start  at  once.  Clo- 
tho  and  Mercury  count  the  dead  into  the  boat.  First, 
three  hundred  infants, — including  those  who  have  been 
deserted  and  exposed.  Charon  (who  is  still  very 
cross)  complains  of  them  as  "a  cargo  of  very  unripe 
fruit."  Mercury  next  hands  him  in  four  hundred  old 
people  ;  "  they  are  ripe  enough,"  he  observes,  "  at  any 
rate — and  some  rotten."  Seven  have  died  for  love — 
besides  a  great  philosopher,  who  has  killed  himself  for  / 
the  sake  of  a  good-for-nothing  woman.  Several  have 
died  of  a  fever — including  the  physician  who  attended 
them.  Cyniscus,  too,  is  there,  the  Cynic  philosopher, 
who  has  been  eating  some  of  Hecate's  supper,  and  a 
quantity  of  raw  onions  besides,  and  has  died  of  indiges- 
tion. His  only  complaint  is  tbat  he  has  been  forgotten 
by  the  Fates,  and  allowed  to  live  on  earth  so  long. 

Megapenthes,  the  tyrant,  who  has  made  such  a  deter- 
mined attempt  to  escape  on  the  road,  entreats  Clotho  to 
let  him  go  back  to  life — only  for  a  little  while,  if  it  were 
but  five  days,  just  to  finish  his  new  house,  and  to  give 
some  directions  to  his  wife  about  some  money, — he  will 
be  sure  to  come  down  again  soon.  He  tries  in  vain  to 
bribe  the  Inexorable  by  offers  of  gold.  Or,  he  will 
give  his  son,  his  only  son,  as  a  hostage.  Clotho 
reminds  him  that  his  prayer  used  to  be  that  this  son 
might  survive  him.  That  had  been  his  wish,  be  con- 
fesses ;  but  now  he  knows  better.  Clotho  bids  him 
take  comfort ;  his  son  will  follow  him  here  speedily  ; 
he  will  be  put  to  death  by  the  tyrant  who  succeeds. 
At  least  he  desires  to  know  how  things  will  go  after 


72  LUCIA  N. 

his  death.  He  shall  hear,  though  the  information  will 
hardly  he  pleasant.  His  statues  will  he  thrown  down 
and  trampled  on :  his  wife,  who  has  already  "been  faith- 
less to  him,  will  marry  her  lover:  his  daughter  will  go 
into  slavery.  In  vain  he  hegs  for  life,  though  the  life 
he  that  of  a  slave.  Mercury,  with  the  help  of  Cyniscus, 
drives  him  into  the  boat,  and  threatens  to  tie  him  to 
the  mast.  At  this  moment  a  little  figure  rushes  for- 
ward, and  hegs  not  to  he  left  behind.  It  is  Micyllus, 
a  poor  cobbler.  He  has  not  found  life  on  earth  alto- 
gether so  pleasant,  that  he  cares  to  continue  it.  "  At 
the  very  first  signal  of  Atropos,"  says  he,  "  I  jumped 
up  gladly,  threw  away  my  knife  and  leather,  and  an 
old  shoe  I  had  in  my  hand,  and  without  stopping  even 
to  put  on  my  slippers  or  wash  off  the  black  from  my 
face,  followed  her  at  once — or  rather  led  the  way. 
There  was  nothing  to  call  me  back.  I  had  no  tie  to 
life, — neither  land,  nor  houses,  nor  gold,  nor  pTecious 
furniture ;  no  glory  and  no  statues  had  I  to  leave 
"behind.  Indeed  I  like  all  your  ways  down  below 
very  much ;  there's  equality  for  all,  and  no  man  is 
hetter  than  his  neighbour ;  it  all  seems  to  me  uncom- 
monly pleasant.  I  suppose  nobody  calls  in  dehts  here, 
or  pays  taxes  :  above  all,  there  is  no  cold  in  winter,  no 
sickness,  and  no  beatings  from  great  people.  Here  all 
is  peace,  and  conditions  seem  quite  reversed ;  we  poor 
laugh  and  are  merry,  Avhile  your  rich  men  groan  and 
howl."  He  is  eager  to  be  ferried  over  at  once  to  thai 
further  shore;  and  when  Charon  sulkily  declares  there 
is  no  room  in  the  boat  for  him,  he  strips  and  proposes 
to  swim  across  the  Styx ;  he  shall  get  over  that  way 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  73 

perhaps  as  fast  as  they  will.  At  last  it  is  settled  that  he 
is  to  sit  on  the  tyrant's  back  ;  "  and  kick  him  well," 
says  Clotho.  The  Cynic  now  takes  up  the  dialogue. 
He,  like  his  fellow-philosopher  Menippus,has  no  money 
to  pay  his  passage. 

Cyn /'sens.  I'll  tell  yon  the  plain  truth,  Charon — I 
haven't  a  penny  to  pay  for  my  passage  :  nothing  in  the 
world  but  my  scrip  and  staff  here.  But  I'm  quite 
ready  to  pump  or  to  row  :  you  shall  have  no  reason  to 
complain,  if  you  can  find  me  a  good  strong  oar. 

Charon.  Pull  away,  then.  I  must  be  content  to  get 
that  much  out  of  you. 

Cyn.  Shall  I  give  you  a  song? 

Cha.  Well,  do  ;  if  you  know  a  good  sea-stave. 

Cyn.  I  know  plenty,  Charon.  But  these  fellows  are 
blubbering  so  loud,  they'll  drown  my  voice. 

Dead  men,  in  discordant  chorus.  0  my  riches  ! — O 
my  lands  ! — Oh,  what  a  beautiful  house  I've  left  be- 
hind me  ! — Alas  !  for  all  the  money  my  heir  will 
squander  ! — Alas,  my  poor  dear  children  ! — Ah  !  who'll 
gather  the  grapes  from  those  vines  I  planted  last  year? 

Merc.  Have  you  nothing  to  lament,  Micyllus  1  In- 
deed it's  against  all  rule  for  any  one  to  make  this  voy- 
age without  a  few  tears. 

Micyllus.  Nonsense  !  I've  nothing  to  cry  for,  on 
such  a  pleasant  voyage. 

Merc.  Nay,  just  cry  a  little,  do — just  to  keep  up 
the  custom. 

Mic.  Very  well,  if  you  wish  it,  Mercury — here 
goes. — 0  my  leather-parings  !    0  my  old  shoes  !    Alas  ! 


74  LUC  I  AN. 


i 


no  longer  shall  I  go  from  dawn  till  evening  without 
food,  nor  walk  barefoot  and  half-clad  all  the  winter, 
with  my  teeth  chattering  for  cold !  And,  oh  dear ! 
who  will  inherit  my  old  awl  and  scraper  1 

Merc.  There,  that'll  do ;  we've  almost  got  across. 

Cha.  Now,  pay  your  fares,  all  of  you,  the  first 
thing.  You  there,  fork  out !  And  you  !  Now  I've  got 
all,  I  think. — Micyllus,  where's  your  penny  1 

Mic.  You  joke,  my  friend  ;  you  might  as  well  try 
to  get  blood  out  of  a  turnip,  as  they  say,  as  money  out 
of  Micyllus.  Heaven  help  me  if  I  know  a  penny  by 
sight — whether  it's  round  or  square  ! 

The  scene  which  follows,  satire  though  it  be,  has  a 
terrible  amount  of  truth  in  it.  The  tone  of  burlesque 
passes  almost  into  that  of  tragedy.  It  reads  like  a 
passage  from  some  dramatic  mediaeval  sermon.  The 
dead  are  summoned  one  by  one  before  the  tribunal  of 
Ehadamanthus.  Each  has  to  strip  for  examination : 
for,  burnt  in  upon  the  breast  of  every  man,  patent  now 
to  the  Judge  of  Souls,  though  invisible  to  mortal  eyes, 
will  be  found  the  marks  left  by  the  sins  of  his  past 
life.*  Cyniscus  presents  himself  first,  cheerfully  and 
confidently.     Some  faint  indications  there  are  upon 

*  This  is  from  Plato.  In  his  '  Gorgias  '  (524)  Ehadamanthus 
finds  the  soul  of  the  tyrant  "  full  of  tho.  prints  and  scars  of 
perjuries  and  wrongs  which  have  been  stamped  there  by  each 
action."  Tacitus  (Ann.  vi.  6),  speaking  of  Tiberius,  introduces 
the  idea  as  that  of  Socrates :  "If  the  minds  of  tyrants  could 
be  laid  open  to  view,  scars  and  wounds  would  be  discovered 
upon  them  :  since  the  mind  is  lacerated  by  cruelty,  lust,  and 
evil  passions,  even  as  the  body  is  by  stripes  and  blows." 


DIALOGUES  OF    THE  DEAD.  75 

his  person  of  scars,  healed  over  and  almost  obliterated. 
He  explains  that  these  are  the  traces  of  great  faults 
committed  in  his  youth  through  ignorance,  Avhich  by 
the  help  of  philosophy  he  has  amended  in  his  maturer 
years.  lie  is  acquitted,  and  bid  to  take  his  place  among 
the  just,  after  he  shall  have  given  evidence  against  the 
tyrant  Megapenthes.  Micyllus,  the  poor  cobbler,  who 
has  had  few  temptations,  shows  no  marks  at  all.  But 
when  Megapenthes,  hanging  back  in  terror  from  the 
scrutiny,  is  hurled  by  Tisiphone  into  the  presence  of 
the  judge,  Cyniscus  has  a  terrible  list  of  crimes  to 
charge  against  him.  He  has  abused  his  power  and 
wealth  to  the  most  atrocious  deeds  of  lust  and  cruelty. 
In  vain  he  tries  to  deny  the  accusations  :  his  Bed  and 
his  Lamp,  the  unwilling  witnesses  of  his  debaucheries, 
are  summoned,  by  a  bold  and  striking  figure  of  imper- 
sonation, to  bear  their  evidence  against  him ;  and  when 
he  is  stripped  for  examination,  his  whole  person  is 
found  to  be  livid  with  the  marks  imprinted  on  it  by 
his  crimes.  The  only  question  is  what  punishment 
shall  be  assigned  him.  The  Cynic  philosopher  begs  to 
suggest  a  new  and  fitting  one. 

Cyniscus.  It  is  the  custom,  I  believe,  for  all  your 
dead  here  to  drink  the.  water  of  Lethe? 

Rhadamanthus.  Certainly. 

Gyn.  Then  let  this  man  alone  not  be  permitted  to 
taste  it. 

Jihad.  And  why  so  ? 

Cyn.  So  shall  he  suffer  the  bitterest  punishment 
in  the  recollection  of  all  that  he  has  been  and  done, 


76  LUC  I  AN. 

and  all  the  power  he  had  while  on  earth,  and  in  the 
thought  of  his  past  pleasures. 

Rltad.  Excellently  well  advised  !  Sentence  is  passed. 
Let  him  he  fettered  and  carried  away  to  Tartarus, 
there  to  rememher  all  his  past  life. 

The  keen  intellect  which  rejected,  as  some  of  the 
greatest  minds  of  antiquity  had  done  before  him,  the 
inventions  of  poet  and  mythologist  as  to  the  future 
state,  could  appreciate  the  awful  truth  of  a  moral  hell 
which  the  sinner  carried  always  within  him.  Lucian 
would  have  said,  Avith  that  great  Roman  poet  who  found 
no  refuge  from  superstition  hut  in  materialism, — 

"  No  vultures  rend  the  breast  of  Tityos, 
As  his  vast  bulk  lies  tost  on  Acheron's  wave  ; 

But  lie  is  Tityos,  whose  prostrate  soul 
The  fani^s  of  guilty  love  and  vain  regret, 
And  fruitless  longings  ever  vex  and  tear."  * 

In  that  thought,  at  least,  the  Christian  poet  is  in 
accord  with  the  heathen.  It  is  the  punishment  which 
Milton  imagines  for  the  Great  Tempter  himself : — 

"  Horror  and  doubt  distract 
His  troubled  thoughts,  and  from  the  bottom  stir 
The  Hell  within  him  ;  for  within  him  Hell 
He  brings,  and  round  about  him  now  from  Hell 
One  step,  no  more  than  from  himself,  can  fly 
By  change  of  place  ;  now  conscience  works  despair 
That  slumhered, — wakes  the  bitter  memory 
Of  what  he  was,  what  is,  and  what  must  he."  t 

*  Lucretius,  iii.  997.  +  Par.  Lost,  iv.  18. 


CHARON'S   VISIT  TO   THE    WORLD.  77 


charon's  visit  to  the  upper  world. 

This  is  one  of  the  author's  best  pieces,  and  though 
classed  amongst  the  miscellaneous  Dialogues,  may 
very  well  find  a  place  here.  The  dramatis  persona: 
are  the  same,  and  the  contrast  between  the  world 
of  the  living  and  the  world  of  ghosts  is  still  the 
theme. 

MERCURY  AND   CHARON. 

Mercury.  "What  are  you  laughing  about,  Charon? 
And  what  has  made  you  leave  your  boat  and  come  up 
here  into  our  parts  1  You  don't  very  often  favour  us 
with  a  visit. 

Charon.  Well,  I  had  a  fancy,  Master  Mercury,  to 
see  what  kind  of  a  thing  human  life  was,  and  what 
men  do  in  the  world,  and  what  it  is  that  they  have  to 
leave  behind  them,  that  they  all  bemoan  themselves  so 
when  they  come  down  our  way.  For  you  know  that 
never  a  one  of  them  makes  the  voyage  without  tears. 
So  I  begged  leave  of  absence  from  Pluto,  just  for  a 
day,  like  Protesilaus,  and  came  up  here  into  the  day- 
light. And  I  think  myself  very  lucky  in  falling  in 
with  you  ;  you'll  be  good  enough  to  act  as  my  guide,  I 
know,  and  go  round  with  me  and  show  me  everything 
. — you  knoAV  all  about  it. 

Merc.  Really,  Mr  Ferryman,  I  can't  spare  time.  I 
have  to  go  off  to  do  an  errand  for  Jupiter  upon  earth. 
He's  very  irascible,  and  if  I  loiter  on  the  road,  I  fear  he 
may  banish  me  entirely  into  your  dark  dominions,  or 
do  to  me  as  he  did  to  Vulcan  lately, — take  me  by  the 


78  LUCIAN. 

foot  and  pitch  me  down  from  heaven,  and  so  I  shall 
have  to  go  limping  round  with  the  wine,  like  him. 

Cha.  And  will  you  let  me  go  wandering  about  the 
earth  and  losing  my  way — you,  my  old  friend  and 
messmate  ?  It  wouldn't  be  amiss  for  you  to  remember, 
my  lad,  how  I  have  never  made  you  bale  the  boat,  or 
even  pull  an  oar,  but  you  lie  snoring  on  the  deck,  for 
all  those  great  broad  shoulders  ;  or  if  you  find  any  talk- 
ative fellow  among  the  dead  men,  you  chatter  with  him 
all  the  way  over,  leaving  a  poor  old  fellow  like  me  to 
pull  both  oars  myself.  By  your  father's  beard,  now, 
my  good  Mercury,  don't  go  away !  Show  me  round 
this  upper  world,  that  I  may  see  something  before  I  go 
home  again.  Why,  if  you  leave  me  here  by  myself,  I 
shall  be  no  better  than  the  blind  men.  Just  as  they 
go  stumbling  about  in  the  darkness,  so  do  I  in  this 
confounded  light.  Oblige  me  now,  Mercury,  do — and 
I'll  never  forget  the  favour. 

Merc.  This  job  will  cost  me  a  beating,  I  plainly  fore- 
see— all  the  wages  I  shall  get  for  acting  as  guide  will 
be  blows.  But  I  suppose  I  must  oblige  you  :  what 
can  a  fellow  do  when  a  friend  presses  him  1  But  as 
to  seeing  everything  thoroughly,  Mr  Ferryman,  that's 
impossible — it  would  take  a  matter  of  years.  There 
would  have  to  be  a  hue  and  cry  sent  after  me  by 
Jupiter,  as  a  runaway ;  and  it  would  stop  your  busi- 
ness in  the  service  of  Death,  and  Pluto's  empire  would 
suffer,  by  your  stopping  all  transportation  there  for 
some  time ;  and  then  iEacus  woidd  be  in  a  rage  about 
his  fees,  when  he  found  not  an  obol  coming  in.  But 
I'll  manage  to  let  you  sec  what's  best  worth  seeing. 


CHARON'S   VISIT  TO   THE    WORLD.  79 

Cha.  You  know  "best,  Mercury ;  I'm  a  perfect 
stranger  here,  and  know  nought  about  this  upper 
world. 

Merc.  First,  then,  Ave  must  find  some  commanding 
spot,  where  you  can  see  everything  from.  If  you  could 
have  got  up  into  heaven,  now,  there  would  have  been 
no  trouble — you  might  see  it  all  from  there,  as  from  a 
watch-tower.  However,  since  your  ghostly  functions 
are  a  bar  to  your  admittance  into  Jove's  dominions, 
we  must  look  out  for  a  good  high  mountain. 

Cha.  You  know  what  I  used  to  say  when  Ave  Avere 
aboard  my  boat.  Whenever  the  wind  took  us  on  the 
quarter,  and  the  waves  rose  high,  then  you,  in  your  ig- 
norance, Avould  be  calling  to  me  to  shorten  sail,  or  let  go 
the  sheet,  or  run  before  the  wind, — and  I  always  bid 
you  all  sit  still  and  hold  your  tongues — I  knew  what 
Avas  best  to  be  done.  So  noAV  do  you  just  take  Avhat 
course  you  think  best :  you  are  captain  uoav  ;  and  I,  as 
all  passengers  should  do,  Avill  sit  still  and  do  as  you 
tell  me. 

Merc.  Very  right.  I  know  the  "best  plan,  and  I'll 
soon  find  a  good  look-out  place.  Would  Caucasus  do1? 
or  is  Parnassus  higher — or  Olympus  higher  still] 
When  I  look  at  Olympus,  a  bright  idea  comes  into  my 
head  ;  but  you  must  help  me,  and  do  your  fair  share 
of  the  Avork. 

Cha.  Give  your  orders  —  I'll  help  as  far  as  I 
can. 

Merc.  The  poet  Homer  says  that  the  sons  of  Aloeus 
— they  Avere  but  two,  and  they  were  only  youths — 
designed  once  upon  a  time  to  wrench  up  Ossa  and  put 


80  LUCIAN. 

it  on.  Olympus,  and  then  Pelion  on  top  of  that — think- 
ing so  to  get  a  good  ladder  to  climb  into  heaven  by. 
Now  those  lads  suffered  for  it,  and  it  served  them  right, 
for  it  was  a  very  insolent  trick.  But  you  see  we  are 
not  scheming  anything  against  the  gods,  so  why  should 
not  we  two  roll  these  mountains  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  so  as  to  get  a  good  view  from  a  commanding 
position  ? 

Cha.  And  could  we  two  by  ourselves  lift  and  carry 
Pelion  or  Ossa? 

Merc.  Why  not,  Charon?  you  don't  mean  to  say 
that  we  are  weaker  than  those  two  boys, — we,  who  are 
divinities? 

Cha.  No ;  but  the  thing  itself  seems,  to  my  mind, 
impossible. 

Merc.  Very  likely ;  because  you're  so  illiterate, 
Charon,  and  destitute  altogether  of  the  poetic  faculty. 
Eut  that  grand  Homer  makes  a  road  into  heaven  in 
two  lines — he  claps  the  mountains  together  so  easily.  I 
wonder,  too,,  that  this  should  seem  to  you  such  a  pro- 
digy, when  you  know  how  Atlas  bears  the  weight  of 
the  whole  globe  himself,  and  carries  us  all  on  his  back. 
I  suppose  you've  heard,  too,  of  my  brother  Hercules, 
how  he  supplied  Atlas's  place  once,  just  to  allow  him 
a  little  rest,  while  he  took  the  weight  upon  his  own 
shoulders  ? 

Cha.  Yes,  I've  heard  all  about  it ;  but  whether  it 
be  true  or  not,  you  and  the  poet  only  know. 

Merc.  Quite  true,  I  assure  you,  Charon  :  why  shoidd 
such  clever  men  tell  lies  1  So  let's  set  to  work  upon 
Ossa  first,  as  the  poet  and  his  verse  recommend ; 


CUARO.VS  VISIT  TO   THE   WORLD.     _      81. 

"And  on  Ossa's  top 
They  rolled  the  leafy  Pelion."  * 

Do  you  see  how  easy  it  is  1  We've  done  it  capitally 
■ — and  most  poetically.  Now  let  me  get  up  and  see 
whether  it  will  do,  or  whether  we  must  "build  a  little 
higher  yet.  Ah  !  we  are  still  under  the  shadow  of 
Olympus,  I  see.  Only  Ionia  and  Lydia  are  visible 
yet  on  the  east :  on  the  west,  Ave  can't  see  further  than 
Italy  and  Sicily :  on  the  south,  only  this  side  the 
Danube, — and  Crete  only  indistinctly  down  here.  I 
say,  Ferryman,  we  shall  have  to  move  02ta  too,  and 
then  clap  Parnassus  on  top  of  all. 

Cha.  So  be  it ;  only  take  care  we  don't  attempt 
too  much, — I  mean,  beyond  what  poetical  probability 
allows.  Homer  will  prove  a  very  unlucky  architect 
for  us,  if  we  tumble  down  with  all  this  weight  upon 
us  and  break  our  skulls. 

Merc.  Never  fear — it's  all  quite  safe.  Move  OEta 
now — now  up  with  Parnassus.  There — now  I'll  get 
up  and  look  again.  All  right — I  can  see  everything. 
Now  you  come  up  too. 

Cha.  Lend  us  a  hand  then,  Mercury — it's  no  joke 
getting  up  such  a  place  as  this. 

Merc.  Well,  if  you  want  to  see  everything,  you 
know,  Charon,  you  can't  expect  to  gratify  your  curiosity 
and  never  risk  your  neck.  But  take  fast  hold  of  my 
hand — and  take  care  you  don't  put  your  foot  upon  a 
slippery  stone.  Well  done  ! — now  you're  safe  up. 
Parnassus,  luckily,  has  two  tops,  so  you  can  sit  upon 

*  Horn.,  Odyss.  xL 
A.  c.  vol.  xviii.  » 


82  LUC  I  AN. 

one  and  I  on  the  other.     Now  look  all  round  you  and 
see  what  you  can  see. 

Cha.  I  see  a  large  extent  of  land,  and  as  it  were  a 
great  lake  all  round  it,  and  mountains  and  rivers  bigger 
than  Cocytus  or  Phlegethon, —  and  men, —  oh!  such 
little  creatures  !  and  some  kind  of  hiding-places  or 
"burrows  they  have. 

Merc.  Those  are  cities,  -which  you  call  burrows. 

Cha.  Do  you  know,  Mercury,  we  seem  to  have  done 
no  good,  after  all,  in  moving  Parnassus,  and  (Eta,  and 
these  other  mountains  ? 

Merc.  Why  so  1 

Cha.  Because  I  can  see  nothing  distinctly  from 
this  height.  I  wanted  not  merely  to  see  cities  and 
hills,  as  one  does  in  a  picture,  hut  men  themselves, 
and  what  they  do,  and  what  they  talk  about,  —  as 
I  did  when  you  met  me  first  and  found  me  laugh- 
ing ;  I  had  just  been  uncommonly  amused  at  some- 
thing. 

Merc.  And  what  was  that,  pray  1 

Cha.  Some  man  had  been  invited  by  one  of  his 
friends  to  dinner,  I  conclude,  for  to-morrow.  "  I'll  be 
sure  to  come,"  says  he — and  just  as  he  was  speaking, 
down  comes  a  tile  from  the  roof  somehow,  and  kills 
him.  So  I  laughed  to  think  he  couldn't  keep  his 
appointment.  And  now  I  think  I  had  better  get  down 
again,  that  I  may  see  and  hear  better. 

Merc.  Stay  where  you  are.  I've  a  remedy  for  this 
difficulty  too.  I  can  make  you  marvellously  keen- 
sighted,  by  using  a  certain  incantation  from  Homer, 
invented  for  this  special  purpose.     The  moment  I  say 


CHARON'S   VISIT  TO  THE    WORLD.  83 

the  words,  you'll  find  no  more  difficulty  as  to  vision, 
but  will  see  everything  quite  plain. 

CJia.  Say  them,  then. 

Merc. 

"  Lo  !  from  this  earthly  mist  I  purge  thy  sight, 

That  thou  may'st  know  both  gods  and  men  aright."* 

How  now  1     Can  you  see  better  1 

Clia.  Wonderful !  Lynceus  himself  would  be  blind 
in  comparison  !  Now  explain  things  to  me,  and  answer 
my  questions.  But  first,  would  you  like  me  to  ask  you 
a  question  out  of  Homer,  that  you  may  see  I'm  not 
quite  ignorant  of  the  great  poet? 

Mere.  How  come  you  to  know  anything  about  him, 
— a  sailorflike  you,  always  at  the  oar  1 

Cha.  Look  here  now, — that's  very  disrespectful  to  my 
craft.  Why,  when  I  carried  him  across  after  he  was 
dead,  I  heard  him  rhapsodising  all  the  way,  and  I 
remember  some  of  it.  A  terrible  storm  we  had.  that 
voyage,  too.  He  began  some  chant  of  not  very  happy 
omen  for  seafaring  folk, — how  Neptune  gathered  the 
clouds,  and  troubled  the  sea— stirring  it  up  with  his 
trident,  like  a  ladle — rousing  all  the  winds  and  every- 
thing else.  He  so  disturbed  the  water  with  his  poetry, 
that  all  on  a  sudden  we  had  a  perfect  tempest  about 
us,  and  the  boat  was  wellnigh  overset.  Well,  then, 
he  fell  sick  himself,  and  vomited  up  great  part  of  his 
poem, — Scylla  and  Charybdis,  and  the  Cyclops,  and 
all.  I  had  no  great  trouble  in  picking  up  a  few  scraps 
of  the  contents.     So,  as  the  poet  has  it, — 

*  Horn.,  II.  v.  127. 


84  LUC  IAN. 

"  Who  is  yon  stalwart  warrior,  tall  and  strong,' 
By  head  and  shoulders  towering  o'er  the  throng  ?" 

Merc.  That's  Milo  of  Crotona,  the  great  wrestler. 
The  Greeks  are  applauding  him  because  he  has  just 
lifted  a  bull  and  is  carrying  it  across  the  arena. 

Cha.  They'll  have  much  better  reason  to  applaud 
me,  Mercury,  when  I  get  hold  of  Milo  himself,  as  I 
shall  do  very  shortly,  and  clap  him  on  board  my  boat, 
when  he  comes  down  our  way  after  having  been  thrown 
by  that  invincible  wrestler,  Death ;  no  back-trick 
that  he  knows  can  manage  him.  He'll  weep  and  groan 
then,  we  shall  see,  when  he  remembers  all  his  laurels 
and  triumphs ;  but  now  he  is  very  proud  kjcause  they 
all  admire  him  for  carrying  the  bull.  Do  yorbsuppose, 
now,  that  man  ever  expects  to  die  ? 

The  visitor  from  the  lower  world,  under  Mercury's 
instruction,  surveys  many  other  scenes  in  human  life. 
Space  and  Chronology  are,  of  course,  set  entirely  at 
defiance  under  the  potent  incantation  which  Mercury 
has  borrowed  from  the  poet  —  as  they  are,  indeed, 
sometime-s  by  poets  themselves.  He  sees  Cyrus  plan- 
ning his  great  expedition  against  Crcesus ;  overhears 
the  latter  monarch  holding  his  celebrated  conversation 
with  Solon  on  the  great  question  of  human  happiness ; 
is  shown  the  Scythian  Tomyris  on  her  white  horse,  the 
savage  queen  who  is  to  give  the  Persian  conqueror 
"  his  fill  of  blood."  He  sees  the  too  fortunate  Poly- 
crates  receiving  back  his  lost  ring  from  the  fisherman, 
and  learns  from  his  guide  (who  has  heard  it  as  a  secret 


CU A  RON'S   VISIT  TO   THE   WORLD.  85 

from  Clotho)  tlio  miserable  end  of  the  tyrant's  pros- 
perity. Then  Mercury  shows  him  the  now  desolate 
site  of  what  once  was  Nineveh,  and  tells  him  how  the 
great  Babylon  is  fated  to  perish  in  like  manner.  As 
for  the  remains  of  Mycenae,  and  Argos,  and,  above  all, 
of  the  renowned  Troy, — these  Mercury  is  afraid  to 
show  his  friend,  lest  when  he  returns  to  the  Shades 
below  he  should  strangle  the  poet  for  his  exaggerations. 
The  whole  dialogue  is  very  fine,  and  in  a  higher  tone 
than  is  Lucian's  wont  to  use,  though  no  writer  could 
use  it  with  better  effect. 

Cha.  Strange  and  multiform  indeed  is  the  crowd  I 
see,  andjiuman  life  seems  full  of  trouble.  And  their 
cities  are  like  hives  of  bees,  in  which  each  has  his  own 
sting,  and  therewith  attacks  his  neighbour ;  and  some, 
like  wasps,  plunder  and  harry  the  weaker.  But  who 
are  that  crowd  of  shadows,  invisible  to  them,  who 
hover  over  their  heads  ] 

Merc.  These,  Charon,  are  Hope,  and  Fear,  and 
Madness  ;  and  Lusts,  and  Desires,  and  Passions,  and 
Hate,  and  suchlike.  Of  these,  Folly  mingles  with  the 
crowd  below,  and  is,  as  one  may  say,  their  fellow-citizen. 
So  also  Hate,  and  Anger,  and  Jealousy,  and  Ignorance, 
and  Distress,  and  Covetousness.  But  Fear  and  Hope 
hover  above  them ;  and  the  first,  when  she  swoops 
down  upon  them,  drives  them  out  of  their  minds,  and 
makes  them  cower  and  shudder ;  whilst  Hope,  still 
fluttering  over  them,  the  instant  one  thinks  he  has 
surely  laid  hold  of  her,  flies  up  out  of  his  reach,  and 
leaves  him  balked  and  gaping,  like  Tantalus  below, 


86  LVCIAN. 

when  the  water  flies  his  lips.  Also,  if  you  look  close, 
you  will  see  the  Fates  too  hovering  over  them,  each 
with  her  spindle,  whence  are  drawn  slender  threads 
which  are  attached  to  all. 

Charon  compares  human  life  to  the  buhhles  which 
rise  and  float  along  the  stream — some  small,  which 
quickly  burst  and  disappear ;  some  larger,  which  at- 
tract others  in  their  course,  and  so  grow  larger  still, 
but  which  soon  break  also  in  their  turn,  and  vanish 
into  nothing  ;*  and  Mercury  assures  him  that  his  com- 
parison is  quite  as  good  as  Homer's  celebrated  one  of  the 
leaves  on  the  trees.  It  puzzles  him  also  to  discover  what 
there  is  in  this  life  so  very  desirable,  that  men  should 
so  take  the  loss  of  it  to  heart;  and  he  would  fain 
himself  take  a  journey  to  earth,  and  preach  wisdom  to 
these  miserable  mortals,  to  warn  them  to  "  cease  from 
vanity,  and  live  with  death  ever  before  their  eyes. 
1  0  fools  ! '  I  would  say  to  them,  '  why  are  ye  anxious 
about  such  little  things  ]  Cease  from  thus  wearying 
yourselves  ;  ye  cannot  live  for  ever  :  none  of  those 
tilings  ye  so  admire  is  everlasting,  nor  can  a  man  carry 
aught  of  it  away  with  him  when  he  dies,  but  naked 
he  must  depart  below  ;  and  house  and  lands  and  gold 
must  change  their  master,  and  pass  into  other  hands.'  " 

But  all  such  preaching,  Mercury  assures  him,  would 
be  in  vain.  Their  ears  are  so  fast  stopped  with  error 
and  ignorance,  that  no  surgeon's  instrument  can  bore 
them.     What  Lethe  does  for  the  dead,  obstinacy  does 

*  Jeremy  Taylor  has  adopted  and  enlarged  this  passage  from 
Lucian,  in  the  opening  paragraph  of  his  "Holy  Dying." 


CHARON'S   VISIT  TO   THE    WORLD.  87 

for  the  living.  Some  there  are,  however,  among  these 
mortals,  "  whose  ears  are  open  to  the  voice  of  truth, 
and  whose  vision  is  purged  to  see  the  things  of  human 
life  in  their  real  aspect."  Charon  would  read  his 
lesson,  then,  to  them.  "  That  would  be  labour  lost," 
replies  Mercury,  "  to  teach  them  what  they  know  well 
already.  See  how  they  sit  apart  from  the  vulgar  herd, 
smiling  at  all  that  passes,  and  feeling  never  any  kind 
of  satisfaction  in  it  :  but  plainly  meditating  an  escape 
to  your  quiet  regions,  out  of  the  weariness  of  life  ; 
hated,  moreover,  as  they  are  by  their  fellows,  because 
they  seek  to  convict  them  of  their  folly."  "These 
seem  but  few,"  says  Charon.  "They  are  enough," 
replies  Mercury.  Enough  to  be  the  salt  of  the  earth ; 
such,  even  in  the  heathen's  estimate,  must  always  be 
few.  And  cynicism  and  suicide, — these,  as  we  see, 
were  the  heathen's  remedies  for  the  vanity  and  vexa- 
tion of  life. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


LUCIAN    AND   THE   PHILOSOPHERS. 


The  great  success  and  reputation  achieved  by  the 
early  Greek  philosophers,  and  especially  by  those  who 
professed  Rhetoric  and  Dialectics,  naturally  led  to  the 
assumption  of  the  character  by  a  host  of  successors, 
many  of  them  mere  pretenders.  It  was  a  profession 
not  only  tempting  to  a  man's  self-conceit,  but  to  his 
love  of  gain  :  for,  in  spite  of  the  protest  of  one  at  least 
of  the  great  teachers  of  antiquity — Socrates — against 
debasing  philosophy  to  a  mere  trade  by  accepting 
money  for  discoursing  on  it,  it  had  not  unnaturally 
become  the  custom  to  take  fees  both  for  public  lectures 
and  for  private  instruction.  For  a  philosopher  had  to 
live,  like  other  men.  The  Antonine  Caesars,  zealous 
for  the  education  of  their  subjects,  founding  lecture- 
ships and  endowing  colleges  throughout  their  empire, 
possibly  encouraged  too  much  the  mere  pretenders  to 
learning  by  the  liberality  of  their  grants,  and  the  ire 
of  the  satirist  may  have  been  justly  roused  by  the  un- 
worthiness  of  many  of  the  recipients.* 

*  "  Beaucoup  de  gens  se  faisaient  philosophes  parce  que  Marc 
Aurele  les  enrichissait." — Champagny,  "Les  Antonines,"  iii. 


LVCIAN  AND   THE  PHILOSOPHERS..  89 

Athens  was  still  the  great  resort  for  professors  of 
all  sciences,  from  all  countries,  and  of  all  characters. 
The  genius  of  the  people  insured  such  visitors  a  wel- 
come reception.  Talk  was  the  Athenian's  privilege  and 
his  delight.  "  To  tell  or  to  hear  some  new  thing,"  is 
St  Paul's  brief  epitome  of  the  life  of  the  Athenian 
multitude  of  his  day — and  contemporary  history  does 
hut  amplify  the  apostle's  report.  Nor  is  it  to  he  sup- 
posed that  the  wisest  or  the  most  honest  teacher  was 
always  the  most  popular ;  rather,  the  boldest  and 
least  scrupulous  pretenders  were  perhaps  the  most  sure 
of  an  audience.  As  in  our  own  clays,  the  medicine 
whieliis.  put  forward  as  a  cure  for  all  diseases  is  secure 
of  a  wide  sale,  among  the  vulgar ;  so  the  lecturer  who 
professed  universal  knowledge — and  there  were  plenty 
of  such — did  not  fail  of  commending  himself  to  the 
greedy  ears  of  the  Athenian  populace.  There  were 
men  who  announced  themselves  as  prepared — for  a 
consideration — to  dispute  on  any  imaginable  subject  of 
human  knowledge,  or  to  reply  to  any  question  which 
curiosity  might  propose.  Especially  were  those  sought 
after  who  professed  to  teach  the  great  secret  of  beating 
an  opponent  in  argument,  right  or  wrong ;  an  enviable 
accomplishment,  unfortunately,  in  the  eyes  of  most 
intellectual  people,  but  especially  of  men  Avho  took 
so  much  part  in  public  life  as  did  the  Athenian 
commons. 

To  such  an  extent  had  this  passion  for  talk  in  all  its 
forms  —  whether   in    propounding  the  most  startling 

222.     The  whole  passage,  as  an  illustration  of  Lucian,  well  de- 
serves attention. 


'{rO~c  < 


<*-» 


90  LUGIAN. 

theories  of  morals  or  metaphysics,  or  in  the  most  in- 
genious fencing  with  the  weapons  of  logic  and  rhetoric 
■ — spread  itself  in  Lucian's  day,  that  the  abuses  of  the 
Schools  presented  an  ample  and  tempting  field  for  so 
keen  a  satirist.  Add  to  this  that  he  himself  had  been 
very  much  as  it  were  behind  the  scenes ;  that  in  so 
far  as  he  had  been  a  real  seeker  after  wisdom  and  an 
honest  teacher  of  the  truth,  he  had  seen  how  these 
were  disregarded  by  the  pretended  philosophers  of 
his  day ;  or  in  so  far  as  he  had  lent  himself  to  the 
common  temptation,  and  had  regarded  gain  and  repu- 
tation more  than  a  conscientious  utterance  of  what 
truth  he  knew,  hejwould  have  experienced  how  very 


readily  a  few  specious  phrases  and  plausible  asser- 
tions pass  for  wisdom  with  the  multitude,  and  how 
often  the  unintelligible  may  be  made  to  do  duty  for 
the  sublime. 

Next  to  the  absurdities  of  the  popular  religion,  then, 
those  of  the  pretenders  to  philosophy  lay  invitingly 
open  to  the  attack  of  the  satirist.  The  fact  that  in 
both  cases  such  attack  had  to  be  made  upon  a  strong 
position,  guarded  by  much  popular  prejudice  and  by 
many  private  interests,  would  be  only  an  additional 
reason  for  engaging  in  it.  He  looked  upon  both 
systems  as  what  a  modern  satirist  would  call  "  enor- 
mous shams,"  and  the  success  of  the  imposture  made 
the  work  of  unmasking  it  all  the  more  exciting.  In 
both  cases,  truth  suffered  more  or  less  under  the  un- 
discriminating  ridicule  which  could  not  afford  to  spoil  ' 
its  point  by  making  distinctions  and  exceptions.  As 
in  his  merciless  dissection  of  the  so-called  divinities  of 


LUCIAN  AND   THE  PHILOSOPHERS.  91 

the  pagan  heaven,  he  seems  often  to  repudiate  the 
existence  of  any  divine  principle  at  all ;  so  when  he 
holds  up  to  derision  the  charlatans  and  impostors  who 
sheltered  themselves  under  the  names  of  the  great 
masters  of  old  times,  and  who  pushed  their  tenets  to 
absurdity,  he  lays  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  carica- 
turing those  venerable  sages  themselves. 

But,  in  truth,  veneration  for  great  names  is  a  luxury 
in  which  the  satirist  by  profession  can  rarely  afford  to 
indulge.  The  exigencies  of  his  craft  go  nigh  to  forbid 
him  to  hold  anything  sacred.  We  know  how  con- 
stantly, even  in  our  more  decorous  modern  days,  the 
man  who  has  a  keen  taste  for  humour  and  a  reputation 
for  being  amusing  is  tempted  to  make  jests  which  savour 
of  profanity,  while  he  may  very  possibly  be  no  more 
profane  at  heart  than  those  who  profess  themselves 
shocked  by  his  levity  of  tone.  It  has  been  remarked 
already,  in  one  of  the  preceding  volumes  of  this  series, 
in  speaking  of  Aristophanes,  that  we  may  be  quite  Avrong 
in  assuming  that  he  bore  any  malice  against  Socrates, 
or  was  insensible  to  the  higher  qualities  of  his  char- 
acter, because  he  found  that  it  suited  his  purpose  to 
caricature  some  of  the  eccentricities  of  so  well  known 
a  personage  for  the  comic  stage  :  and  we  may  be  doing 
Lucian  equal  injustice  in  accusing  him  of  atheism, 
because  in  his  writings  he  touches  only  the  absurd  side 
of  a  faith  which  was  fast  passing  away  and  leaving  as 
yet  nothing  in  its  place  ;  or  in  thinking  that  he  sneers 
at  all  great  intellectual  discoveries,  because  he  found 
in  the  contradictions  and  the  sophistries  of  the  Schools 
such  congenial  matter  for  his  pen.     And  although, 


92  LUCIAN. 

like  Aristophanes,  he  uses  well-known  names  from 
time  to  time  for  the  persons  of  his  drama,  anything 
like  what  we  call  personality  was  probably  far  from 
his  thoughts.  "  Lucian,"  says  Eanke,  "  spoke  after 
the  manner  of  ancient  comedy, — things  true,  not  of 
this  or  that  individual,  but  of  bodies,  of  communities, 
of  society  in  general." 

With  this  reservation  the  reader  will  perhaps  judge 
more  fairly  the  broad  farce — for  this  is  what  it  really 
is — of  the  Dialogue  which  follows. 


THE    SALE    OF    THE    PHILOSOPHERS. 

Scene,  a  Slave-mart;  Jupiter,  Mercury,  Philoso- 
phers in  the  garb  of  slaves  for  sale;  audience 
of  Buyers. 

Jupiter.  Now,  you  arrange  the  benches,  and  get  the 
place  ready  for  the  company.  You  bring  out  the 
goods,  and  set  them  in  a  row  ;  but  trim  them  up  a 
little  first,  and  make  them  look  their  best,  to  attract  as 
many  customers  as  possible.  You,  Mercury,  must  put 
up  the  lots,  and  bid  all  comers  welcome  to  the  sale. — 
Gentlemen,  Ave  are  here  going  to  offer  you  philosophi- 
cal systems  of  all  kinds,  and  of  the  most  varied  and  in- 
genious description.  If  any  gentleman  happens  to  be 
short  of  ready  money,  he  can  give  his  security  for  the 
amount,  and  pay  next  year. 

Mercury  (to  Jupiter).  There  are  a  great  many 
come ;  so  we  had  best  begin  at  once,  and  not  keep 
them  waiting. 


THE  SALE   OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.  93 

Jup.  Begin  the  sale,  then. 

Merc.  Whom  shall  we  put  up  first  ? 

Jup.  This  fellow  with  the  long  hair, — the  Ionian. 
He's  rather  an  imposing  personage. 

Merc.  You,  Pythagoras  !  step  out,  and  show  yourself 
to  the  company. 

Jup.  Put  him  up. 

Merc.  Gentlemen,  Ave  here  offer  you  a  professor  of 
the  very  best  and  most  select  description — who  buys  1 
Who  wants  to  be  a  cut  above  the  rest  of  the  world  1 
Who  wants  to  understand  the  harmonies  of  the  uni- 
verse? and  to  live  two  lives?* 

Customer  {fuming  the  Philosopher  round  and  ex- 
amining him).  He's  not  bad  to  look  at.  What  does 
he  know  best  % 

*  Mr  Grote,  in  the  introductory  chapter  of  his  Plato,  thus 
sketches  the  Pythagorean  doctrine  of  "The  Music  of  the 
Spheres."  "The  revolutionsof  such  grand  bodies  [the  Sun  and 
Planets]  could  not  take  place,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Pythago- 
reans, without  producing  a  loud  aud  powerful  sound  ;  and  as 
their  distances  from  the  central  fire  were  supposed  to  be  arranged 
in  musical  ratios,  so  the  result  of  all  these  separate  sounds  was 
full  and  perfect  harmony.  To  the  objection — Why  were  not 
these  sounds  heard  by  us  ? — they  replied,  that  we  had  heard 
them  constantly  and  without  intermission  from  the  hour  of  our 
birth  ;  hence  they  had  become  imperceptible  by  habit." 

The  "two  lives"  is  of  course  an  allusion  to  Pythagoras's 
notion  of  the  transmigration  of  souls.  It  is  said  of  him  that  he 
professed  to  be  conscious  of  having  been  formerly  Euphorbus, 
one  of  the  chiefs  present  at  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  of  having 
subsequently  borne  other  shapes.  There  is  also  a  story  of  his 
having  interfered  on  behalf  of  a  dog  which  was  being  beaten, 
declaring  that  in  its  cries  he  recognised  "the  voice  of  a  de- 
parted friend." 


94  LUCIAN. 

Merc.  Arithmetic,  astronomy,  prognostics,  geometry, 
music,  and  conjuring — you've  a  first-rate  soothsayer 
hefore  you. 

Cast.  May  one  ask  him  a  few  questions  1 

Merc.  Certainly — (aside)  and  much  good  may  the 
answers  do  you. 

Cust.  What  country  do  you  come  from  ? 

Pythagoras.   Samos. 

Cust.  Where  were  you  educated  ? 

Pyth.  In  Egypt,  among  the  wise  men  there. 

Cust.  Suppose  I  buy  you,  now — what  will  you  teach 
me? 

Pyth.  I  will  teach  you  nothing — only  recall  things 
to  your  memory.* 

Cust.  How  will  you  do  that  1 

Pyth.  First,  I  will  clean  out  your  mind,  and  wash 
out  all  the  rubbish. 

Cust.  Wrell,  suppose  that  done,  how  do  you  proceed 
to  refresh  the  memory? 

Pyth.  First,  by  long  repose,  and  silence — speaking 
no  word  for  five  whole  years. t 

*  That  "all  knowledge'  is  but  recollection"  is  an  assertion 
attributed  both  to  Pythagoras  and  Plato.  The  idea  of  "an 
immortal  soul  always  learning  and  forgetting  in  successive 
periods  of  existence,  having  seen  and  known  all  things  at  one 
time  or  other,  and  by  association  with  one  thing  capable  of 
recovering  all,"  may  be  seen  discussed  in  Plato's  Dialogue, 
"  Meno,"  81,  82,  &c. 

+  The  injunction  of  a  period  of  silence  upon  neophytes  (tho 
"  five  years "  is  most  likely  an  exaggeration)  was  plainly 
meant  as  a  check  upon  their  presuming  to  teach  before  they  had 
matured  their  knowledge.  "  It  would  be  not  unserviceable  " 
(says  Tooke)  "in  our  own  age,  by  preventing  many  of  our  raw 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.  95 

Oust.  Why,  look  ye,  my  good  fellow,  you'd  best  go 
teach  the  dumb  son  of  Crcesus  !  I  want  to  talk,  and 
not  be  a  dummy.  Well, — but  after  this  silence  and 
these  five  years  1 

Pijth.  You  shall  learn  music  and  geometry. 

Oust.  A  queer  idea,  that  one  must  be  a  fiddler  before 
one  can  be  a  wise  man  ! 

Pyth.  Then  you  shall  learn  the  science  of  numbers. 

Cast.  Thank  you,  but  I  know  how  to  count  already. 

Pyth.  How  do  you  count  1 

Oust.  One,  two,  three,  four — 

Pyth.  Ha  !  what  you  call  four  is  ten,  and  the  per- 
fect triangle,  and  the  great  oath  by  which  Ave  swear.* 

Oust.  Now,  so  help  me  the  great  Ten  and  Four,  I 
never  heard  more  divine  or  more  wonderful  words  ! 

Pyth.  And  afterwards,  stranger,  you  shall  learn 
about  Earth,  and  Air,  and  Water,  and  Fire, — what  is 
their  action,  and  what  their  form,  and  what  their 
motion. 

Oust.  What !  have  Fire,  Air,  or  Water  bodily  shape  ? 

Pyth.  Surely  they  have ;  else,  without  form  and 
shape,  how  could  they  move? — Besides,  you  shall 
learn  that  the  Deity  consists  in  Number,  Mind,  and 
Harmony. 

Cust.  What  you  say  is  really  wonderful ! 

Pyth.  Besides  what  I  have  just  told  you,  you  shall 

young  divines  exposing  themselves  in  the  pulpit  before  they 
have  read  their  Greek  Testament." 

*  Ten  being  the  sum  of  1,  2,  3,  4.  Number,  in  the  system 
of  Pythagoras,  was  the  fundamental  principle  of  all  things  :  ia 
the  Monad—  Unity • — he  recognised  the  Deity. 


96  LUCIAN. 

understand  that  you  yourself,  who  seem  to  he  one  indi- 
vidual, are  really  somebody  else. 

Cast.  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  I'm  somebody  else, 
and  not  myself,  now  talking  to  you  1 

Pyth.  Just  at  this  moment  you  are  ;  but  once  upon  a 
time  you  appeared  in  another  body,  and  under  another 
name  ;  and  hereafter  you  will  pass  again  into  another 
shape  stilL 

[After  a  little  more  discussion  of  this  philosopher's 
tenets,  he  is  purchased  on  behalf  of  a  company  of  pro- 
fessors from  Magna  Grecia,  for  ten  minse.  The  next 
lot  is  Diogenes,  the  Cynic] 

Merc.  Who'll  you  have  next?  That  dirty  fellow 
from  Pontus? 

Jup.  Ay — he'll  do. 

Merc.  Here  !  you  with  the  wallet  on  your  back, — 
you  round-shouldered  fellow !  come  out,  and  walk  round 
the  ring. — A  grand  character,  here,  gentlemen  ;  a  most 
extraordinary  and  remarkable  character,  I  may  say  ;  a 
really  free  man  here  I  have  to  offer  you — who'll  buy  1 

Cust.  How  say  you,  Mr  Salesman1?  Sell  a  free 
citizen  1 

Merc.  Oh  yes. 

Cust.  Are  you  not  afraid  he  may  bring  you  before 
the  court  of  Areopagus  for  kidnapping1? 

Merc.  Oh,  he  doesn't  mind  about  being  sold ;  he 
says  he's  free  wherever  he  goes  or  whatever  becomes  of 
him. 

Cust.  But  what  could  one  do  with  such  a  dirty, 


THE  SALE  OF  THii  PHILOSOPHERS.  97 

wretched-looking   body  —  unless   one   were  to   make 
a  ditcher  or  a  water-carrier  of  him  1 

Merc.  Well,  or  if  you  employ  him  as  door-porter, 
you'll  find  him  more  trustworthy  than  any  dog.  In 
fact,  '  Dog '  is  his  name. 

Cast.  "Where  does  he  come  from,  and  what  does  ho 
profess  ? 

Mnrc.  Ask  him — that  will  be  most  satisfactory. 

Cust.  I'm  afraid  of  him,  he  looks  so  savage  and 
sulky ;  perhaps  he'll  bark  if  I  go  near  him,  or  even 
bite  me,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Don't  you  see  how 
he  handles  his  club,  and  knits  his  brows,  and  looks 
threatening  and  angry  1 

Merc.  Oh,  there's  no  fear — he's  quite  tame. 

Cust.  (approaching  Diogenes  cautiously).  First,  my 
good  fellow,  of  what  country  are  you  1 

Diogenes  {surlily).  All  countries. 

Cust.  How  can  that  be  1 

Diog.  I'm  a  citizen  of  the  world. 

Cust.  What  master  do  you  profess  to  follow  ? 

Diog.  Hercules. 

Cust.  Why  don't  you  adopt  the  lion's  hide,  then  ? 
I  see  you  have  the  club. 

Diog.  Here's  my  lion's  hide, — this  old  cloak.  Like 
Hercules,  I  wage  war  against  pleasure ;  but  not  under 
orders,  as  he  did,  but  of  my  own  free  will.  My  choice 
is  to  cleanse  human  life. 

Cust.  A  very  good  choice  too.  Eut  what  do  you 
profess  to  know  best?  or  of  what  art  are  you 
master1? 

Diog.  I  am  the  liberator  of  mankind,  the  physician 
a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  a 


98  LUCIAN. 

of  the  passions  ;  in  short,  I  claim  to  he  the  prophet  ol 
truth  and  liberty. 

Cust.  Come  now,  Sir  Prophet,  suppose  I  buy  you, 
after  what  fashion  will  you  instruct  me  ] 

Dior/.  I  shall  first  take  and  strip  you  of  all  your 
luxury,  confine  you  to  poverty,  and  put  an  old  gar- 
ment on  you  :  then  I  shall  make  you  work  hard,  and 
lie  on  the  ground,  and  drink  water  only,  and  fill  your 
belly  with  whatever  comes  first ;  your  money,  if  you 
have  any,  at  my  bidding  you  must  take  and  throw 
into  the  sea ;  and  you  must  care  for  neither  wife  nor 
children,  nor  country ;  and  hold  all  things  vanity ; 
and  leave  your  father's  house  and  sleep  in  an  empty 
tomb,  or  a  ruined  tower, — ay,  or  in  a  tub  :  and  have 
your  wallet  filled  with  lentils,  and  parchments  close- 
written  on  both  sides.  And  in  this  state  you  shall 
profess  yourself  happier  than  the  King  of  the  East. 
And  if  any  man  beats  you,  or  tortures  you,  this  you 
shall  hold  to  be  not  painful  at  all. 

Cust.  How  !  do  you  mean  to  say  I  shall  not  feel 
pain  when  I'm  beaten  1  Do  you  think  I've  the  shell 
of  a  crab  or  a  tortoise,  man  1 

Dlog.  You  can  quote  that  line  of  Euripides,  you 
know, — slightly  altered. 

Cud.  And  what's  that,  pray  ] 

Ding. 

"  Thy  mind  shall  feel  pain,  but  thy  tongue  confess  none."  * 

15 ut  the  qualifications  you  will  most  require  are  these : 
you  must  be  unscrupulous,  and  brazen-faced,  and  ready 

*  This  unfortunate  quibble  of  Euripides,  which  he  puts  into 


THE  SALE   OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.  99 

to  revile  prince  and  peasant  alike ;  so  shall  men  tako 
notice  of  you,  and  hold  you  for  a  brave  man.  More- 
over, let  your  speech  he  rough,  and  your  voice  harsh, 
and  in  fact  like  a  dog's  growl ;  and  your  countenance 
rigid,  and  your  gait  corresponding  to  it,  and  your 
manner  generally  hrute-like  and  savage.  All  modesty 
and  gentleness  and  moderation  put  far  from  you ;  the 
faculty  of  blushing  you  must  eradicate  utterly.  Seek 
the  most  crowded  haunts  of  men ;  but  when  there, 
keep  solitary,  and  hold  converse  with  none ;  address 
neither  friend  nor  stranger,  for  that  would  be  the 
ruin  of  your  empire.  Do  in  sight  of  all  what  others 
are  almost  ashamed  to  do  alone.  At  the  last,  if 
you  choose,  choke  yourself  with  a  raw  polypus,  or 
an  onion.*  And  this  happy  consummation  I  devoutly 
wish  you. 

Cast,  (recovering  from  some  astonishment).  Get 
out  with  you  !  what  abominable  and  unnatural  prin- 
ciples ! 

Diog.  But  very  easy  to  carry  out,  mind  you,  and 
not  at  all  difficult  to  learn.  One  needs  no  education, 
or  reading,  or  such  nonsense,  for  this  system  ;  it's  the 
real  short  cut  to  reputation.  Be  you  the  most  ordi- 
nary person, — cobbler,  sausagcmonger,  carpenter,  pawn- 

the  mouth  of  Hippolytus  in  his  play  (Hipp.  612)  as  a  defence 
of  perjury,— 

"  My  tongue  hath  sworn  it— but  my  thought  was  free  " — 

was  a  never- failing  subject  of  parody  to  his  critics  and 
satirists. 

*  The  first  mode  of  suicide  was  said  to  have  been  adopted 
by  the  philosopher  Democritus. 


100  LUCIAN. 

broker,  —  nothing  hinders  your  being  the  object 
of  popular  admiration,  provided  only  that  you've 
impudence  enough,  and  brass  enough,  and  a  happy 
talent  for  bad  language. 

Oust.  "Well,  I  don't  require  your  instructions  in 
that  line.  Possibly,  however,  you  might  do  for  a 
bargeman  or  a  gardener,*  at  a  pinch,  if  this  party 
has  a  mind  to  sell  you  for  a  couple  of  oboli, —  I 
couldn't  give  more. 

Merc,  (eagerly).  Take  him  at  your  own  bidding ; 
•we're  glad  to  get  rid  of  him,  he  is  so  troublesome, 
—  bawls  so,  and  insults  everybody  up  and  down, 
and  uses  such  very  bad  language. 

Jap.  Call  out  the  next — the  Cyrenaic  there,  in 
purple,  with  the  garland  on. 

Merc.  Now,  gentlemen,  let  me  beg  your  best  atten- 
tion. This  next  lot  is  a  very  valuable  one  —  quite 
suited  to  parties  in  a  good  position.  Here's  Pleasure 
and  Perfect  Happiness,  all  for  sale  !  Who'll  give  me 
a  bidding  now,  for  perpetual  luxury  and  enjoyment? 
\_A  Cyrenaic,  bearing  traces  of  recent  debauch,  staggers 
into  the  ring.'] 

Gust.  Come  forward  here,  and  tell  us  what  you 
know :  I  shouldn't  mind  buying  you,  if  you've  any 
useful  qualities. 

Merc.  Don't  disturb  him,  sir,  if  you  please,  just 
now — don't  ask  him  any  questions.    The  truth  is,  he 

*  For  the  accomplishments  of  the  bargemen  and  vine- 
dressers in  the  way  of  bad  language  we  have  Horace's  testi- 
mony, Sat.  i.  5  and  7.  The  first-mentioned  fraternity  bear  the 
same  reputation  stilL 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.         101 

has  taken  a  little  too  much  ;  that's  why  he  doesn't 
answer — his  tongue's  not  quite  steady. 

Cast  And  who  in  their  senses,  do  you  suppose, 
would  huy  such  a  dehauched  and  drunken  rascal1? 
Faugh  !  how  he  stinks  of  unguents  !  and  look  how  he 
staggers  and  goes  from  side  to  side  as  he  walks  !  *  But 
tell  us,  now,  Mercury,  what  qualifications  he  really 
has,  and  what  he  knows  anything  about. 

Merc.  Well,  he's  very  pleasant  company — good  to 
drink  with,  and  can  sing  and  dance  a  little — useful  to 
a  master  who  is  a  man  of  pleasure  and  fond  of  a  gay 
life.  Besides,  he  is  a  good  cook,  and  clever  in  made 
dishes — and,  in  short,  a  complete  master  of  the  science 
of  luxury.  He  was  brought  up  at  Athens,  and  was 
once  in  the  service  of  the  Tyrants  of  Sicily,  who  gave 
him  a  very  good  character.  The  sum  of  his  prin- 
ciples is  to  despise  everything,  to  make  use  of  every- 
thing, and  to  extract  the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure 
from  everything. 

Cust.  Then  you  must  look  out  for  some  other 
purchaser,  among  the  rich  and  wealthy  here  ;  I  can't 
afford  to  huy  such  an  expensive  indulgence. 

Merc.  I  fear,  Jupiter,  we  shall  have  this  lot  left  on 
our  hands — he's  unsaleable. 

*  If  this  he  really  meant  for  Aristippns,  the  founder  of  the 
Cvrcnaic  philosophy,  it  is  the  most  unfair  presentation  of  all. 
However  some  of  his  followers  might  have  abused  his  prin- 
ciples, his  own  character  is  probably  much  more  fairly  described 
by  Horace  : — 

"  All  lives  sat  well  on  Aristippns  ;  though 
He  liked  the  high,  he  yet  could  grace  the  low." 

— Ep.  I.  xvii. 


102  LUC  I  AN. 

Jup.  Put  him  aside,  and  bring  out  another.  Stay, 
— those  two  there,  that  fellow  from  Ahdera  who  is 
always  laughing,  and  the  Ephesian,  who  is  always 
crying ;  I've  a  mind  to  sell  them  as  a  pair. 

Merc.  Stand  out  there  in  the  ring,  you  two. — "We 
offer  you  here,  sirs,  two  most  admirable  characters,  the 
■wisest  we've  had  for  sale  yet. 

Cust.  By  Jove,  they're  a  remarkable  contrast !  Why, 
one  of  them  never  stops  laughing,  while  the  other 
seems  to  be  in  trouble  about  something,  for  he's  in 
tears  all  the  time.  Holloa,  you  fellow  !  what's  all  this 
about  1     "What  are  you  laughing  at  1 

Democrltus.  Need  you  ask?  Because  everything 
seems  to  me  so  ridiculous — you  yourselves  included. 

Cust.  What !  do  you  mean  to  laugh  at  us  all  to  our 
faces,  and  mock  at  all  Ave  say  and  do  1 

Dem.  Undoubtedly ;  there's  nothing  in  life  that's 
serious.  Everything  is  unreal  and  empty — a  mere 
fortuitous  concurrence  of  indefinite  atoms. 

Cust.  You're  an  indefinite  atom  yourself,  you  rascal ! 
Confound  your  insolence,  won't  you  stop  laughing? 
But  you  there,  poor  soul  (to  Heraclitus),  why  do  you 
weep  so  1  for  there  seems  more  use  in  talking  to  you. 

Heraclitus.  Because,  stranger,  everything  in  life 
seems  to  me  to  call  for  pity  and  to  deserve  tears  ;  there 
is  nothing  but  what  is  liable  to  calamity ;  wherefore 
I  mourn  for  men,  and  pity  them.  The  evil  of  to-day  I 
regard  not  much :  but  I  mourn  for  that  which  is  to 
come  hereafter — the  burning  and  destruction  of  all 
things.  This  I  grieve  for,  and  that  nothing  is  per- 
manent, but  all  mingled,  as  it  were,  in  one  bitter  cup, 


HIE  SALE  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.  103 

—pleasure  that  is  no  pleasure,  knowledge  that  knows 
nothing,  greatness  that  is  so  little,  all  going  round  and 
round  and  taking  their  turn  in  this  game  of  life. 

Oust.  What  do  you  hold  human  life  to  be,  then? 

Her.  A  child  at  play,  handling  its  toys,  and 
changing  them  with  every  caprice. 

Cast.   And  what  are  men? 

Her.  Gods — but  mortal. 

Oust.  And  the  gods  ? 

Her.  Men — but  immortal. 

Oust.  You  speak  in  riddles,  fellow,  and  put  us  off 
with  puzzles.  You  are  as  bad  as  Apollo  Loxias,  giving 
oracles  that  no  man  can  understand. 

Her.  Yea  ;  I  trouble  not  myself  for  any  of  ye. 

Cast.  Then  no  man  in  his  senses  is  like  to  buy 
you. 

Her.  Woe  !  woe  to  every  man  of  ye,  I  say  !  buyers 
or  not  buyers. 

Oust.  Why,  this  fellow  is  pretty  near  mad  ! — I'll 
have  nought  to  do  with  either  of  them,  for  my  part. 

Merc,  (turning  to  Jupiter).  We  shall  have  this  pair 
left  on  our  hands  too. 

Jup.  Put  up  another. 

Merc.  Will  you  have  that  Athenian  there,  who  talks 
so  much? 

Jup.  Ay — try  him. 

Merc.  Step  out,  there  ! — A  highly  moral  character, 
gentlemen,  and  very  sensible.  Who  makes  me  an 
offer  for  this  truly  pious  lot  ? 

[The  morality  which  the  satirist  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  Socrates,  in  his  replies  to  the  interrogatories  of  his 


104  LUCIAN. 

would-be  purchaser,  is  that  which  was  attributed  to  him 
— probably  quite  without  foundation — by  his  enemies. 
The  customer  next  asks,  where  he  lives  ?] 

Socrates.  I  live  in  a  certain  city  of  mine  own  build- 
ing, a  new  model  Eepublic,  and  I  make  laws  for 
myself.* 

Oust.  I  should  like  to  hear  one  of  them. 

Soc.  Listen  to  my  grand  law  of  all,  then,  about 
■wives — that  no  man  should  have  a  wife  of  his  own, 
but  that  all  should  have  wives  in  common. 

Oust.  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  abro- 
gated all  the  laws  of  marriage  1 

Soc.  It  puts  an  end,  you  see,  to  so  many  difficult 
questions,  and  so  much  litigation  in  the  divorce 
courts. 

Cust.  Grand  idea  that !  But  what  is  the  main 
feature  of  your  philosophy  1 

Soc.  The  existence  of  ideals  and  patterns  of  all 
things  in  nature.  Everything  you  see — the  earth, 
and  all  that  is  on  it,  the  heavens,  the  sea — of  all 
these  there  exist  invisible  ideals,  external  to  this 
visible  universe. 

Cust.  And  pray  where  are  they  1 

Soc.  Nowhere.  If  they  were  confined  to  any  place, 
you  see,  they  could  not  be  at  all. 

Cust.  I  never  see  any  of  these  ideals  of  yours. 

Soc.  Of  course  not :  the  eyes  of  your  soul  are 
blind.     But  I  can  see  the  ideals  of  all  things.     I  see 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  Plato,  in  his  'Republic,' 
makes  Socrates  the  expositor  of  his  new  polity  throughout ;  he 
had  probably  derived  at  least  the  leading  ideas  from  him. 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.         105 

an    invisible    double   of   yourself,    and    another   self 
besides  myself — in  fact,  I  see  everything  double. 

Cast.  Bless  me !  I  must  buy  you,  you  are  so  very 
clever  and  sharp-sighted.  Come  (turning  to  Mercury), 
what  do  you  ask  for  him? 

Marc.  Give  us  two  talents  for  him. 

Cust.  I'll  take  him  at  your  price.  I'll  pay  you 
another  time. 

Merc.  What's  your  name  1 

Oust.  Dion,  of  Syracuse. 

Merc,  {makes  a  note).  Take  him,  and  good  luck  to 
you.  Now,  Epicurus,  we  want  you.  Who'll  buy  this 
lot  1  He's  a  disciple  of  that  laughing  fellow,  and  also 
of  the  other  drunken  party,  whom  we  put  up  just 
now.  He  knows  more  than  either  of  them,  however, 
on  one  point — he's  more  of  an  infidel.  Otherwise, 
he's  a  pleasant  fellow,  and  fond  of  good  eating. 

Cust.  What's  his  price  ? 

Merc.  Two  minse. 

Cust.  Here's  the  money.  But  just  tell  us  what  he 
likes  best. 

Merc.  Oh,  anything  sweet — honey-cakes,  and  figs 
especially. 

Cust.  They're  easily  got ;  Carian  rigs  are  cheap 
enough. 

J  up.  Now  then,  call  another — him  with  the  shaven 
crown  there,  and  gloomy  looks — the  one  we  got  from 
the  Porch  yonder. 

Merc.  You're  right.  I  fancy  a  good  many  of  out 
customers  who  have  come  to  the  sale  are  waiting  to 
bid  for  him. — Now  I'm  going  to  offer  you  the  most 


106  LUC  I  AN. 

perfect  article  of  all — Virtue  personified.  Who  wants 
to  be  the  only  man  who  knows  everything  ? 

Gust.  What  do  you  mean  1 

Here.  I  mean  that  here  you  have  the  only  wise 
man,  the  only  handsome  man,  the  only  righteous  man, 
the  true  and  only  king,  general,  orator,  legislator,  and 
everything  else  there  is.* 

Oust.  The  true  and  only  cook  then,  I  conclude,  and 
cobbler,  and  carpenter,  and  so  forth  ] 

Merc.  I  conclude  so  too. 

Oust.  Come  then,  my  good  fellow — if  I'm  to  pur- 
chase you,  tell  me  all  about  yourself ;  and  first  let  me 
ask,  with  all  these  wonderful  qualifications,  are  you 
not  mortified  at  being  put  up  for  sale  here  as  a  slave  % 

Chrysippus.  Not  at  all :  such  things  are  external 
to  ourselves,  and  whatever  is  external  to  ourselves,  it 
follows  must  be  matters  of  indifference  to  us. 

[The  Stoic  proceeds  to  explain  his  tenets,  in  the 
technical  jargon  of  his  school — which  his  listener  de- 
clares to  be  utterly  incomprehensible,  and  on  which 
modern  readers  would  pronounce  much  the  same  jud^- 

*  Lucian  had  evidently  in  his  mind  the  humorous  sketch  of 
the  Stoic  given  by  Horace,  Sat.  i.  3  : — 

"  What  though  the  wise  ne'er  shoe  or  slipper  made, 
The  wise  is  still  a  brother  of  the  trade, — 
Just  as  Hermogenes,  when  silent,  still 
Remains  a  singer  of  consummate  skill — 
As  sly  Alfenius,  when  he  had  let  drop 
His  implements  of  art  and  shut  up  shop, 
Was  still  a  harber, — so  the  wise  is  best 
In  every  craft,  a  king's  among  the  rest."—  (Conington.) 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.         107 

ment.  His  great  accomplishment  lies,  as  he  him- 
self professes,  in  the  skilful  handling  of  sophisms — 
"  word-nets,"  as  he  calls  them — in  which  he  entangles 
his  opponents,  stops  their  months,  and  reduces 
them  to  silence.  He  gives  an  example  of  his  art, 
which  is  a  curious  specimen  of  the  kind  of  folly  to 
•which  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients  occasionally  conde- 
scended. A  crocodile  is  supposed  to  have  seized  a  hoy 
in  crossing  a  river,  and  promises  to  restore  him  to 
his  father  if  this  latter  can  guess  correctly  what 
he  intends  to  do  with  him.  If  he  guesses  that  the 
crocodile  means  to  give  him  back,  he  has  guessed 
wrong,  because  the  crocodile's  real  intention  is  to  eat 
him.  If  he  guesses  that  the  crocodile  means  to  eat 
him,  why  then,  if  the  crocodile  gives  him  back  after 
all,  the  guess  would  plainly  be  proved  wrong  by  the 
result ;  so  that  there  seems  no  chance  for  the  father, 
guess  which  he  will.  The  philosopher  assures  his 
listener  that  this  is  but  one  out  of  many  choice 
examples  of  the  sophistical  art  with  Avhich  he  is  pre- 
pared to  furnish  him  ;  and  when  the  other  retorts  upon 
him  somewhat  in  his  own  style,  the  Stoic  threatens  to 
knock  him  down  with  an  "  indemonstrable  syllogism," 
the  effect  of  which,  he  warns  him,  will  be  to  plunge 
him  into  "  eternal  doubt,  everlasting  silence,  and  dis- 
traction of  mind."  In  the  end,  however,  he  is  pur- 
chased by  his  interrogator  for  "self  and  company." 
The  next  who  is  put  up  for  sale  is  "  the  Peripatetic," 
by  whom  Aristotle  is  clearly  intended.  With  him  the 
satirist  deals  briefly  and  lightly,  as  though  he  had 
some  tenderness  for  that  particular  school.    "  You  will 


108  LVC1AN. 

find  him,"  says  the  auctioneer,  "  moderate,  upright, 
consistent  in  his  life — and  what  makes  him  yet  more 
valuable  is  that  in  him  you  are  really  buying  two 
men."  "How  do  you  make  that  out?"  asks  the  cus- 
tomer. "  Because,"  explains  Mercury,  "  he  appears  to 
be  one  person  outside  and  another  inside ;  and  remem- 
ber, if  you  buy  him,  you  must  call  one  '  esoteric '  and 
the  other  '  exoteric'  "  With  such  recommendations, 
the  Peripatetic  finds  a  ready  purchaser  for  the  large 
sum  of  twenty  minae.  Last  comes  the  Sceptic,  Pyriho, 
"who  figures,  by  a  slight  change  of  name,  as  Pyrrhia, 
a  common  appellation  for  a  barbarian  slave.  The 
intending  purchaser  asks  him  a  few  questions.] 

Oust.  Tell  me,  now,  what  do  you  know? 

Pyrrhia.  Nothing. 

Oust.  "What  do  you  mean  1 

Pijrrh.  That  nothing  seems  to  me  certain. 

Gust.  Are  we  ourselves  nothing  1 

Pijrrh.  Well,  that  is  what  I  am  not  sure  of. 

Cast.  Don't  you  know  whether  you  are  anything 
yourself? 

Pijrrh.  That  is  what  I  am  still  more  in  doubt  about. 

Cust.  What  a  creature  of  doubts  it  is  !  And  what 
are  those  scales  for,  pray  1 

Pijrrh.  I  weigh  arguments  in  them,  and  balance 
them  one  against  another ;  and  then,  when  I  find  them 
precisely  equal  and  of  the  same  weight,  why,  I  find  it 
impossible  to  tell  which  of  them  is  true. 

Cust.  Well,  is  there  anything  you  can  do  in  any 
other  line  of  business  1 


THE  SALE   OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS.         109 

Pyrrh.  Anything,  except  catcli  a  runaway  slave. 

Cust.  And  why  can't  you  do  that  1 

Pyrrh.  Because,  you  see,  I've  no  faculty  of  appre- 
hension* 

Cust.  So  I  should  think — you  seem  to  me  quite 
slow  and  stupid.  And  now,  what  do  you  consider 
the  main  end  of  knowledge  1 

Pyrrh.  Ignorance — to  hear  nothing  and  see  no- 
thing. 

Cust.  You  confess  yourself  blind  and  deaf  then  1 

Pyrrh.  Yea,  and  void  of  sense  and  perception,  and 
in  no  wise  differing  from  a  worm. 

Cust.  I  must  buy  you.  (To  Mercury.)  What  shall 
we  say  for  him  1 

Merc.  An  Attic  mina. 

Cust  Here  'tis.  Now,  fellow,  have  I  bought  you 
or  not — tell  me  I 

Pyrrh.  Well,  it's  a  doubtful  question.  « 

Cust.  Not  at  all — at  least  I've  paid  for  you. 

Pyrrh.  I  reserve  my  opinion  on  that  point;  it 
requires  consideration. 

Cust.  Follow  me,  at  all  events — that's  a  servant's 
duty. 

Pyrrh.  Are  you  sure  you're  stating  a  fact  1 

Cust.  (impatiently).  There's  the  auctioneer,  and 
there's  the  money,  and  there  are  the  bystanders  to 
witness. 

Pyrrh.  Are  you  sure  there  are  any  bystanders  ? 

*  The  pun  here  happens  to  he  the  same  in  English  as  in 
Greek.  But  the  Athenians  were  fonder  of  such  word-play  than 
we  are. 


110  luciajst. 

Cast.  I'll  have  you  off  to  the  grinding-house,*  sir,  and 
make  you  feel  I'm  your  master  by  very  tangible  proofs. 

Pyrrh.  Stay — I  should  like  to  argue  that  point  a 
little. 

[The  doubting  philosopher  is  hurried  off,  still  uncon- 
vinced, by  Mercury  and  his  new  owner,  and  the  sale  is 
adjourned  to  the  next  day,  when  Mercury  promises  the 
public  that  he  shall  have  some  cheaper  bargains  to 
offer.  The  whole  scene  reads  like  a  passage  from  the 
old  Aristophanic  comedy ;  and  though  some  of  the 
allusions  must  necessarily  lose  much  of  their  pungency 
from  our  comparative  ignorance  of  the  popular  phil- 
osophy of  Lucian's  day,  the  humour  of  it  is  still 
sufficiently  entertaining.] 


The  professors  of  the  various  Schools  of  Philosophy 
may  well  be  supposed  to  have  been  loud  in  their  in- 
dignation at  this  caricature,  and  in  their  denunciation 
of  the  author.  Or  at  least  it  suited  Lucian's  purpose 
to  assume  that  they  were  so,  and  to  make  the  wrath  of 
the  solemn  fraternity,  real  or  imagined,  the  subject  of 
a  Dialogue  which  follows  by  way  of  sequel  to  the  first. 
Possibly,  also,  he  desired  to  guard  against  any  miscon- 
ception of  his  purpose  in  the  satire,  and  to  make  it 
clear  that  it  was  not  against  true  philosophy  or  sound 
science  that  he  directed  his  wit,  but  against  shallow  and 
conceited  pretenders.  This  second  Dialogue — "  The  Re- 
suscitated Professors" — presents  theauthor  flying  for  his 
life,  pursued  by  a  body  of  irate  philosophers  of  all  sects, 

•  Slaves  who  misbehaved  were  sent  there,  as  the  hardest  work. 


TEE  RESUSCITATED  PROFESSORS.  Ill 

who  have  ohtained  one  clay's  leave  of  ahsence  from  the 
Shades  helow  to  avenge  themselves  on  their  libeller. 

THE   RESUSCITATED    PROFESSORS. 

Socrates.  Pelt  the  wretch  !  pelt  him  with  volleys  of 
stones, — throw  clods  at  him, — oyster-shells  !  Beat  the 
blasphemer  with  your  clubs — don't  let  him  escape ! 
Hit  him,  Plato  !  and  you,  Chrysippus  !  and  you  ! — 
Form  a  phalanx,  and  rush  on  him  all  together !  As 
Homer  says — "  Let  wallet  join  with  wallet,  club 
with  club  !  "  He  is  the  common  enemy  of  us  all,  and 
there  is  no  man  among  ye  whom  he  has  not  insulted. 
You,  Diogenes,  now  use  that  staff  of  yours,  if  ever  you 
did !  Don't  stop !  let  him  have  it,  blasphemer  that  he  is  ! 
What  !  tired  already,  Epicurus  and  Aristippus  1  You 
ought  not  to  be  : — 

"  Be  men,  professors  !  summon  all  your  pluck  ! " 

Aristotle,  do  run  a  little  faster ! — That's  good  !  we've 
caught  the  beast  !  We've  got  you,  you  rascal !  You 
shall  soon  find  ou^  who  you've  been  abusing  !  Now 
what  shall  We  do  witft  him  1  Let  us  think  of  some 
multiform  kind  of  death,  that  may  suffice  for  all  of  us 
— for  he  deserves  a  separate  death  from  each. 

Pliilosopher  A.  I  vote  that  he  be  impaled. 

Phil.  B.   Yes — but  be  well  scourged  first. 


'3V 


Phil.  C.  Let  his  eyes  be  gouged  out. 


Phil.  D.  Ay  —  but  his  tongue  should  be  cut  out 
first. 

Soc.  What  think  you,  Empedocles  1 

Empedocles.  He  should  be  thrown  down  the  crater 


112  LUC  I  AN. 

of    some   volcano,    and    so    learn   not   to   revile   his 
betters. 

Plato.  Nay — the  Lest  punishment  for  him  will  be 
that,  like  Pentheus  or  Orpheus, — 

"  Torn  by  the  ragged  rocks  he  meet  his  fate." 

Lucian.  Oh  no,  no,  pray  !  spare  me,  for  the  love 
of  heaven  ! 

Soc.  Sentence  is  passed :  nothing  can  save  you. 
For,  as  Homer  says, — 

"  'Twixt  men  and  lions,  say,  what  truce  can  hold  ? " 

Luc.  And  I  implore  you,  too,  in  Homer's  words — 
you  will  respect  him,  perhaps,  and  not  reject  me,  when 
I  give  you  a  recitation,— 

"  Spare  a  brave  foe,  and  take  a  ransom  meet, 
Good  bronze,  and  gold — which  even  wise  men  love."  * 

But  his  captors  have  an  answer  ready  out  of  Homer's 
inexhaustible  repertory ;  and  an  appeal  which  the 
prisoner  makes  to  Euripides  is  met  in  a  similar  man- 
ner. Lucian  begs  at  least  to  be  heard  in  his  own 
defence.  He  will  prove  that  he  is  really  the  champion 
and  patron  of  true  philosophy,  to  whom  he  owes  all 
that  he  knows.  Let  him  at  least  have  a  fair  trial, 
before  any  judge  they  please.  None  can  be  better 
than  Philosophy  herself;  but  where  can  she  be  found? 
Lucian  himself  does  not  know  where  she  lives,  though 
he  has  often  made  inquiry.     He  has  seen  men  in  grave 

*  Parodied  from  Homer,  II.  x.  378,  &c.  But  the  last  half-line 
is  Lucian's  own. 


THE  RESUSCITATED  PROFESSORS.  113 

habits,  with  long  beards,  who  ought  to  have  known, 
but  they  bave  always  misdirected  him.  lie  lias  seen, 
too,  a  flaunting  woman,  affecting  to  represent  her,  whose 
hall  of  audience  was  thronged  with  visitors  ;  but  he 
had  soon  detected  her  as  a  mere  impostor. 

Plato  agrees  with  him,  that  the  dwelling  of  Philo- 
sophy is  hard  to  find,  nor  is  her  door  open  to  all  idle 
comers.  But  while  they  are  speaking,  they  meet  her 
walking  in  the  portico  ;  and  to  her,  by  consent  of  both 
parties,  the  prisoner's  case  is  referred.  Virtue,  and 
Temperance,  and  Justice,  and  Education,  who  are  walk- 
ing in  her  company,  shall  be  her  assessors  in  the  court; 
and  Truth,  "  a  colourless  form,  all  but  imperceptible  " 
— of  whom  Lucian  himself  has  but  a  dim  glimpse — 
who  brings  with  her  Liberty  and  Free-speech.  The 
court  is  held  in  the  temple  of  Minerva.  The  aggrieved 
parties  have  to  choose  one  of  their  number  as  formal 
accuser ;  and  Chrysippus,  in  words  of  high  eulogy 
which  may  fairly  be  taken  to  express  the  serious 
opinion  of  the  author  himself,  suggests  Plato  as  the 
fittest  for  that  office.  The  "  marvellous  sublimity  of 
thought,  the  Attic  sweetness  of  diction,  the  persuasive 
grace,  and  sagacity,  and  accuracy,  and  apposite  illus- 
trations ;  the  delicate  irony  and  rapid  interrogation," 
which  are  here  attributed  to  the  great  philosopher,  are 
all  too  genuine  characteristics  to  have  been  introduced 
ironically.  But  Plato  declines  the  office,  and  the 
Cynic  Diogenes  undertakes  it,  readily  enough,  dis- 
gusted as  he  is  at  having  been  valued  at  no  more  than 
two  oboli  at  the  late  "  Sale."  He  accuses  Lucian  of 
endeavouring  to  bring  all  philosophy  into  contempt. 

a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  H 


114  LUCIA  N. 

He  is  worse  than  the  comedy-writers,  Eupolis  and 
Aristophanes,  who  could  at  least  plead  in  their  excuse 
the  recognised  licence  of  the  Dionysiac  festivals.  He 
calls  for  such  a  sentence  on  this  profane  libeller  as 
may  deter  others  from  following  his  example.  Lucian 
defends  himself  hy  protesting  that  it  is  only  sham 
philosophers,  "  asses  in  lions'  skins,"  who  shelter  their 
pretensions  under  the  shadow  of  great  names,  that  he 
lias  attached  ;  it  is  they,  not  he,  Avho  hring  Philosophy 
into  contempt.  Such  gross  misrepresentations  as 
theirs  are  the  less  excusable  because  of  the  dignity  of 
the  things  which  they  misrepresent.  "  The  actor  who 
performs  badly  the  part  of  a  slave  or  a  messenger  is 
guilty  of  but  a  venial  fault ;  but  to  present  a  Jupiter 
or  a  Hercules  to  the  audience  in  a  fashion  unworthy 
of  the  dignity  of  the  character  becomes  wellnigh  a 
profanation." 

The  satirist  is  triumphantly  acquitted.  Even  Plato 
and  Diogenes  withdrew  their  accusation,  and  join  in 
hailing  him  as  the  real  friend  of  Truth.  It  is  resolved 
to  call  up  the  false  pretenders  to  philosophy  for  trial 
before  the  same  court.  Lucian  desires  "Syllogism" — 
that  useful  instrument  of  argument,  who  acts  as  crier 
of  the  court — to  summon  them  for  this  purpose ;  but 
a  strict  logical  examination  is  exactly  what  these  pro- 
fessors shrink  from.  Lucian  succeeds,  however,  in 
securing  their  attendance  by  a  proclamation  of  his  own. 
He  announces  a  public  distribution  of  money  and  corn 
in  the  Acropolis  ;  and  whoever  can  show  a  very  long 
beard  shall  be  entitled  to  a  basket  of  figs  into  the 
bargain.     They  come  in  crowds— Stoics,  Peripatetics, 


THE  MODERN  LATITUDE.  115 

and  Epicureans,  each  claiming  to  be  served  first.  Tint 
as  soon  as  they  hear  of  the  investigation  into  their 
lives  and  morals,  as  well  as  their  professions,  which 
is  to  take  place,  all  hut  two  or  three  take  to  flight  in 
a  panic.  Then  Lucian  adopts  another  plan  to  catch 
them  for  examination  :  he  hangs  out  from  the  wall  of 
the  Acropolis  a  fisherman's  rod  and  line,  baited  with  a 
cluster  of  figs  and  a  purse  of  gold.  They  take  the  bait 
eagerly,  and  are  hauled  up  one  after  another;  and  as 
each  of  the  masters  of  philosophy  repudiates  all  know- 
ledge of  them  as  true  disciples,  are  thrown  headlong 
from  the  rock.  Put  as  there  is  a  risk  lest  some  strong 
fish  should  break  the  line  and  make  off  with  the  bait, 
Lucian  goes  down  into  the  city  accompanied  by  Con- 
viction (one  of  Philosophy's  suite),  prepared  under  her 
guidance  to  crown  with  olive  such  as  can  stand  the 
test,  and  to  brand  conspicuously  on  the  forehead,  with 
the  impression  of  a  fox  or  an  ape,  all  Avhose  profession 
is  a  mere  cloak  for  selfish  ends.  He  foretells  that 
they  will  require  for  their  purpose  very  few  olive 
crowns,  but  a  good  supply  of  branding-irons. 

THE   BANQUET;    OR,    THE   MODERN   BATTLE    OF   THE    LAPITH^. 

This  is  another  humorous  attack  upon  the  Schools  of 
Philosophy  in  general,  cast  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue. 
There  has  been  a  -wedding  supper-party  at  the  house  of 
an  Athenian  of  some  rank,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  his  son,  of  which  Lycinus  (i.e.,  Lucian) 
here  gives  an  account  in  a  conversation  with  a  friend. 
He  apologises — ironically — for  telling  the  story  at  all ; 


116  LUCIAN. 

he  protests  against  betraying  the  secrets  of  hospitality ; 
lie  declares  that,  like  the  poet,  he  "  hates  a  guest  who 
lias  a  retentive  memory  ;  "  but  since  the  tale  has  already, 
lie  finds,  got  abroad, — why,  perhaps  he  had  better  tell 
it  himself,  in  order  that  at  least  it  ma*y  be  told  truly. 
His  friend  is  sure  that  in  point  of  fact  he  is  burning  to 
tell  it,  and  threatens,  if  he  affects  any  more  scruple  in 
the  matter,  to  go  to  some  one  else  for  his  information. 
Then  Lucian  begins  his  narrative.  There  had  been 
invited  to  this  banquet  representatives  of  all  the  dif- 
ferent schools, — Stoic,  Peripatetic,  and  Epicurean,  and 
a  "  grammarian "  (what  we  should  call  a  "  literary 
man")  and  a  rhetorician  besides.  Io  the  Platonist, 
known  in  the  circles  of  schoolmen  as  "  The  Model," 
tutor  to  the  young  bridegroom,  also  enters  among  the 
guests,  and  is  treated  by  the  host  and  by  most  of  the 
company  with  great  consideration  and  respect,  though 
the  Stoic  insisted  upon  being  assigned  the  highest  seat. 
Alcidamas,  the  Cynic,  came  in  last,  without  an  invita- 
tion, quoting,  as  an  impudent  sort  of  apology,  the 
words  of  Homer— 

"  But  Menelaus  uninvited  came." 

To  which  one  of  the  guests  whispered  a  very  apposite 
reply  from  the  same  poet — 

"  Howbeit  this  pleased  not  Agamemnon's  heart." 

The  good  host,  however,  though  all  the  seats  were 
already  filled,  with  much  courtesy  offered  him  a  stool; 
but  this  the  Cynic  declined  as  an  effeminate  and  need- 
less luxury.  He  preferred,  he  said,  to  take  his  food 
standing;  and  accordingly  ate  his  supper,  as  Lucian 


TUB  MODERN  LATITUDE.  117 

describes  it,  "in  a  kind  of  nomad  fashion,  like  the 
Scythians,  looking  out  the  best  pastures,  and  following 
the  dishes  as  the  slaves  handed  them  round."  Ami 
still,  as  he  ate  and  drank,  he  declaimed  loudly  against 
the  luxury  of  such  entertainments,  until  the  host  stopped 
his  mouth  with  a  cup  of  strong  wine.  The  Peripatetic 
philosopher  was  observed  to  be  flirting  surreptitiously 
with  a  pretty  waiting-maid, — a  proceeding  to  which 
the  host  had  to  put  a  stop  by  sending  her  quietly  out 
of  the  room,  and  substituting  a  rough-looking  groom 
in  her  place.  As  the  wine  went  round,  and  tongues 
were  loosened,  the  rhetorician  began  to  recite  passages 
from  his  orations  ;  Avhile  the  litterateur,  not  content 
with  quoting  Pindar  and  Anacreon,  went  on  to  favour 
the  company  with  a  very  tiresome  extempore  poem  of 
his  own.  There  was  a  hired  jester  present,  who,  of 
course,  launched  his  jokes  indiscriminately,  as  occasion 
offered,  at  all  the  company.  Most  of  them  took  it 
gooddiumouredly  enough ;  but  the  Cynic,  accustomed 
to  make  jests  instead  of  being  the  subject  of  them, 
lost  his  temper,  and  engaged  in  a  match  at  fisticuffs 
with  the  poor  buffoon,  who  was  a  mere  pigmy  of  a 
man,  but  who  nevertheless  gave  him  a  good  thrash- 
ing, to  the  great  delight  of  the  company. 

But  at  this  stage  of  the  entertainment  a  slave  entered 
with  a  note.  One  Stoic  professor  had  been  left  out  of 
the  list  of  invitations,  and  had  sent  an  angry  remon- 
strance, in  the  form  of  a  kind  of  speech,  which  the  slave 
was  instructed  to  read.  "  Though,  as  was  well  known, 
he  disliked  and  despised  feasts,  as  a  mere  form  of  sen- 
sual gratification  ;  still,  ingratitude  was  a  thing  he  could 


118  LUCIAN. 

notbesa.  Forgotten?  accidentally  overlooked  1  Oil  no, 
— that  excuse  would  not  do.  Twice  that  very  morning 
he  had  purposely  made-  his  how  to  his  friend  Aristse- 
netus.  No  one  can  he  expected  to  put  up  with  such 
marked  neglect.  Even  Diana  could  not  forgive  not 
hiving  heen  invited  to  the  sacrifice  of  CEneus.  He 
hegs  to  enclose  a  philosophical  problem  which  he 
challenges  the  whole  party  of  these  pretenders  wdio 
have  heen  preferred  to  him  to  solve  if  they  can.  He 
could  tell  a  story  about  the  bridegroom,  too,  but — 
never  mind.  And  he  begs  to  say  in  conclusion,  that 
it  is  no  use  to  think  of  appeasing  his  righteous  indig- 
nation by  offering  now  to  send  a  present  of  game,  or 
anything  of  that  kind,  by  his  servant, — the  man  has 
strict  orders  not  to  take  it." 

Lucian  declares  he  was  quite  ashamed  when  he 
heard  this  production  read.  "You  could  never  have 
expected  such  mean  and  unworthy  language,"  he  says, 
"  from  a  man  of  his  hoary  hairs  and  grave  demeanour." 
The  Peripatetic  philosopher  took  occasion  from  it  at 
once  to  attack  the  Stoics  generally  in  the  most  un- 
measured language.  One  of  that  school  who  Avas  in  the 
company  retaliated  in  similar  terms — all  the  professors 
set  to  work  to  abuse  each  other,  and  ended  by  throw- 
ing wine  in  each  other's  faces,  and  indulging  in  other 
social  courtesies  of  a  like  kind. 

"  I  could  not  help  reflecting,"  says  the  satirist,  "  how 
little  the  learning  of  the  Schools  avails  us,  if  it  does 
nothing  to  improve  and  dignify  the  intercourse  of  daily 
life.  Here  were  scholars  of  the  highest  mark  making 
themselves  worse  than  ridiculous  in  the  eves  of  the 


Til li  MODERN  LAP  1  Til. E.  Ill) 

company  !  Can  it  be  true  that,  as  some  say,  much 
poring  over  books,  and  stuffing  their  heads  with  other 
people's  ideas,  makes  men  lose  their  common-sense] 
Such  conduct  cannot  in  this  case  be  laid  to  the  charge 
of  the  wine, — for  the  letter-writer  at  least  was  sober. 
Yet  here  are  the  unlearned  portion  of  the  company 
behaving  themselves  quietly  and  modestly,  while  such 
is  the  example  set  them  by  these  professors  of  wisdom  !  " 
Io,  the  Platonist,  now  tried  to  quiet  the  uproar  by 
proposing  a  subject  for  discussion,  upon  which,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  Dialogues  of  Plato,  each  should  be 
allowed  to  speak  in  his  turn  and  without  interruption. 
He  suggested  "  Marriage "  as  an  appropriate  theme, 
and  proceeded  to  deliver  his  own  opinion  thereupon, 
which  is,  of  course,  that  of  his  great  master,  as  broached 
in  his  '  Republic,'  and  as  we  have  had  it  set  forth 
by  Socrates  in  his  examination  at  the  "  Sale."  *  It 
would  be  far  better  if  men  would  make  up  their 
minds  to  do  without  it  altogether ;  but  as  this 
seems  improbable,  at  least  he  would  recommend 
the  abolition  of  the  prejudice  in  favour  of  having 
separate  wives.  Lucian  thought  this  expression  of 
opinion  somewhat  curious,  to  say  the  very  least,  upon 
such  an  occasion.  The  literary  gentleman,  instead  of 
giving  his  own  views  on  the  question,  took  the  op- 
portunity of  reciting  to  the  company  an  epithalamium 
of  his  own  composition,  which  is  no  doubt  a  fair 
burlesque  of  the  common  style  of  such  productions. 
Then,  as  it  grew  late,  the  guests  began  to  make  their 

*  See  p.  104. 


120  LUCIAN. 

preparations  for  departure  ;  and  each  proceeded  to  pack 
up  and  carry  home,  as  was  the  custom  at  such  enter- 
tainments, some  little  delicacy  set  apart  for  them  hy 
their  liberal  host.  They  quarrelled  again,  however,  in 
their  greediness,  over  the  largest  portions  and  the  fat- 
test fowls.  A  "  free  fight "  of  philosophers  ensued, 
which  Lucian  could  only  aptly  compare  with  the  battle 
between  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithse  at  the  marriage  of 
Pirithous.  In  the  midst  of  it  Alcidamas  the  Cynic,  by 
design  or  accident,  upset  the  lamp,  and  the  combatants 
Avere  left  for  a  while  in  darkness.  When  it  was  sud- 
denly relighted,  some  awkward  revelations  were  made. 
The  Peripatetic  moralist  was  discovered  making  fierce 
love  to  a  music-girl,  while  the  Epicurean  was  concealing 
under  his  robe  a  gold  cup  which  he  had  snatched  from 
the  table.  "Wounded  and  bleeding,  the  combatants 
were  assisted  from  the  room  by  their  attendant  slaves. 
Put  even  thus  they  could  not  resist  a  gibe  or  two  at 
parting.  The  Epicurean,  with  two  teeth  knocked  out 
in  the  scuffle,  saw  the  Stoic  professor  with  a  damaged 
eye  and  his  nose  bleeding,  and  bids  him  remember  that, 
according  to  his  own  tenets,  "  Pain  is  no  real  evil." 
Lucian  could  only  sum  up  the  moral,  he  tells  his 
friend,  in  the  words  of  Euripides, — 

"  How  strange  and  various  are  the  fates  of  men  ! 
The  gods  still  bring  to  pass  the  unforeseen, 
And  what  we  look  for  never  comes  at  all."  * 

For  what   could   possibly  be  more  unexpected  than 

*  The  somewhat  weak  "tag"  common  to  seyeral  of  Euripi- 
des's  plays. 


IIERM0T1MUS.  ]2l 

such    a    termination    to   a   philosophical  and  literary 
symposium1? 

hf.hmotimcs. 

This  Dialogue,  between  the  author  himself  as 
Lycinus  and  a  disciple  of  the  Stoic  school,  though 
rather  of  graver  cast  than  either  of  the  preceding,  has 
yet  a  great  deal  of  quiet  humour  in  it,  and  bears  token 
of  careful  finish.  It  is  a  good-humoured  blow  at  the 
Stoics,  and  through  them  at  the  theories  of  philosophers 
generally  :  but  it  seems  to  convey  also  a  graver  lesson, 
which  was  probably  often  present  to  a  mind  like 
Lueian's, — that  wisdom  is  hard  to  tind,  and  that  human 
life  is  not  long  enough  for  the  successful  pursuit  of  her. 

Lycinus  meets  Hermotimus  going  to  one  of  his 
master's  lectures.  The  student  walks  with  a  meditative 
air,  repeating  mentally  his  lesson  of  yesterday  :  for,  as 
he  explains,  he  must  lose  no  time;  "life  is  short,  and 
art  is  long,"  as  said  the  great  Hippocrates  ;  and  if  it 
were  true  of  physic,  still  more  true  is  it  of  philosophy. 
Lycinus  remarks  that  as,  to  his  certain  knowledge, 
Hermotimus  has  been  studying  hard  for  the  last  twenty 
years,  much  to  the  detriment  of  his  health  and  his 
complexion,  he  should  have  conceived  that  he  must 
by  this  time  be  very  near  the  attainment  of  the  goal 
of  happiness — if  that  be  synonymous  with  wisdom. 
"  Nay,"  replies  the  other  ;  "  Virtue,  as  Hesiod  tells  us, 
dwells  afar  off,  and  the  road  to  her  is  long,  and  very 
steep  and  rough,  and  costs  no  small  toil  to  them  that 
travel  it."  He  himself  is  as  yet  only  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain.      And  when  does  he  hope  to  get  to  the 


122  LUC  I  AN. 

top?     Well,  Hermotimus  thinks  possibly  in  another 
twenty  years   or  so.      Lycinus   remarks  that  a  man 
might  go  three  times  round  the  world  in  that  time  :  and 
can  his  master  promise  him  that  he  will  live  so  long  ? 
He    hopes  so,    at   least;   and    one    day — one   minute 
— of  enjoyment  on  the  summit,  if  once  attained,  will 
recompense  him  fully  for  all  his  time  and  pains.     But 
is  he  sure  again  that  the  happiness  he  seeks  there,  and 
of  which  he  can  have  as  yet  no  kind  of  experience, 
will  be  found  worth  the  search?  and  in  what  is  it  to 
consist]    glory,    riches,    exquisite    pleasures — is    that 
what  be  expects?     Hermotimus  bids  his  friend  talk 
more  soberly  :  the  life  of  virtue  is  not  concerned  with 
such  things  as  these.     The  fine  passage  which  follows 
can  scarcely  be  altogether  ironical.   "  liiches  and  glory, 
and  all  pleasures  of  the  body,  all  these  are  stripped  off 
and  left  below,  and  the  man  ascends,  like  Hercules, 
who  rose  a  god  from  the  pile  which  consumed  him  on 
Mount  (Eta  :  so  did  he  throw  off  there  all  that  was 
mortal,  all  that  he  inherited  from  his  earthly  mother, 
and  bearing  with  him  that  which  was  divine,  now  puri- 
fied by  fire  and  cleansed  from  all  dross,  soared  upwards 
to  the  gods.     And  so  they  who  are  purified  by  philos- 
ophy, as  though  by  fire,  from  the  love  of  all  those 
things  which  men  in  their  ignorance  hold  in  admira- 
tion, attain  the  summit  and  there  enjoy  all  happiness 
remembering  no  more  either  riches,  or  glory,  or  pleas- 
ure, and   smiling  at  those  who  still  believe  in  their 
existence." 

Lycinus  meets  him  with  the  weapon  which  is  always 
at  hand— which  the  weakness  of  human  nature  fur- 


HERMOTIMUS.  123 

nishes  us  with  as  an  answer  to  all  high  aspirations. 
Men's  lives  are  not  found  to  be  in  accordance 'with  the 
principles  they  profess.  The  actual  Stoics  whom  he 
sees  and  knows  do  not  display  this  insensibility  to 
riches  and  pleasures  which  the  theoretical  Stoic  pro- 
claims. He  has  seen  Hermotimus's  own  master,  the 
great  Stoic  himself,  dragging  off  a  pupil  before  the 
magistrates  for  not  paying  his  fees.  The  dialogue 
which  follows  is  amusing. 

Hermotimus.  Ah  !  that  fellow  was  a  rascal,  and  very 
ungrateful  in  the  matter  of  payment.  My  master  never 
treated  other  people  so  (and  there  were  many  he  had 
lent  money  to) — because,  you  see,  they  paid  him  the 
interest  punctually. 

Lycinus.  But  even  suppose  they  never  paid,  my 
cood  fellow,  what  difference  could  it  make  to  a  man 
like  him, — purified  by  philosophy,  and  not  caring  for 
what  he  had  left  behind — on  Mount  (Eta,  you  know1? 

Herm.  You  don't  suppose  it  was  on  his  own  account 
he  troubled  himself  about  it?  He  has  a  young  family, 
and  he  would  not  like  to  see  them  come  to  want. 

Lye.  But  then,  my  good  Hermotimus,  he  ought  to 
Tiring  them  up  in  virtuous  habits  too — to  be  happy 
like  him,  and  care  nothing  for  money. 

Herm.  I  really  have  no  time  now,  Lycinus,  to  discuss 
such  questions  with  you  :  I'm  in  a  great  hurry  to  get 
to  his  lecture,  and  am  afraid  of  being  too  late. 

Lycinus  begs  him  to  set  his  mind  at  rest  on  that 
point ;  to-day,  he  can  assure  him,  will  be  a  holiday 


124  LUCIAN. 

so  far  as  lectures  are  concerned.  He  lias  just  seen 
a  notice  to  that  effect,  in  large  letters,  posted  on  the 
professor's  door.  He  happens  to  know  that  the  excel- 
lent man  is  keeping  his  hed,  and  has  given  strict  orders 
not  to  be  disturbed ;  having,  in  fact,  been  at  a  late 
supper-party  the  night  before,  where  he  had  eaten  and 
drunk  rather  more  than  was  good  for  him.  He  had 
been  engaged  there,  too,  in  a  warm  dispute  with  a  Peri 
patetic,  which  had  helped  to  disturb  his  digestion.  The 
scholar  is  naturally  anxious  to  know  whether  his  master 
got  the  better  of  his  opponent.  "  Yes,"  says  his  infor- 
mant ;  "  the  Peripatetic  being  rather  obstinate  and 
argumentative,  not  willing  to  be  convinced  and  trouble- 
some to  refute,  your  excellent  master,  having  a  cup  in 
his  hand  such  as  would  have  rejoiced  the  heart  of  old 
Nestor,*  broke  his  head  with  it — they  were  sitting  close 
together — and  so  silenced  him  at  once."  "  An  excellent 
plan,  too,"  says  the  scholar ;  "  there's  no  other  way  of 
dealing  with  men  who  won't  be  convinced."  And  Lyci- 
nus  gravely  assures  him  that  he  quite  concurs  in  the 
opinion.  "  It  is  extremely  wrong  and  foolish,"  he  ad- 
mits, "  to  provoke  a  philosopher — especially  when  he 
happens  to  have  a  heavy  goblet  in  his  hand." 

He  proposes,  however,  that  as  Hermotimus  cannot 
go  to  his  master's  lecture  to  -  day,  he  should  turn 
lecturer  himself  for  once,  so  far  at  least  as  to  give  his 
old  friend  some  account  of  his  experience  as  a  student 
of  philosophy.     Only  one  thing  he  would  be  glad  to 

*  "  Scarce  might  another  raise  it  from  the  hoard 
When  full ;  but  aged  Nestor  raised  with  ease." 

— Iliad,  xi.  635  (Lord  Derby). 


IIERMOTIMUS.  125 

know  before  they  begin — will  he  permit  his  present 
ignorant  pupil  to  ask  questions,  or  even  contradict 
him,  if  he  sees  occasion1?  Hermotimus  says  it  is  not 
usually  allowed  by  the  teacher,  but  in  the  present  case 
he  shall  not  object.* 

The  portion  of  this  dialogue  which  follows  is  a  clever 
imitation  of  the  Socratic  mode  of  argument  by  asking 
continuous  questions,  and  forcing  answers  from  an 
opponent  which  have  the  result  of  reducing  his  state- 
ment to  an  absurdity.  Lycinus  shows  himself  an 
adept  in  this  kind  of  fence.  Though  too  long  for  ex- 
tract here,  it  is  doing  scanty  justice  to  the  author  to 
condense  it ;  yet  the  spirit  of  it  may  perhaps  be  fairly 
given. 

Is  there  one  only  path  to  philosophy — that  of  the 
Stoics — or,  as  Lycinus  has  heard,  many,  and  under 
various  names'?  Many,  undoubtedly,  is  the  answer. 
—  And  do  all  teach  the  same  or  different?  Totally 
different. — Then,  probably,  only  one  can  be  right? 
Certainly. — And  how  came  Hermotimus  (being  at  the 
first  outset  an  ignoramus,  of  course,  like  others,  and 
not  the  wise  or  half-wise  man  he  is  now) — how  came 
lie  to  know  which  to  choose  out  of  all  these  different 
schools  ?  how  distinguish  the  true  from  the  false  ? 
Well— he  saw  the  greater  numbers  go  one  way,  and 
judged  that  must  be  the  best. — And  what  majority 
had   the    Stoics   over   the  Epicureans?   and  does  he 

*  The  disciples  of  Plato  were  apt  to  reply  to  those  disputants 
who  were  so  unreasonable  as  to  ask  for  proof  of  any  assertion — 
"  He  said  it  himself" — the  "  ipse  dixit  "  which  lias  passed  into 
a  modern  phrase. 


126  LUCIAN. 

really  think  that  in  such  a  matter  it  is  safe  to  go  by  a 
mere  majority  of  voices  1  But  it  was  not  only  that ; 
he  heard  everybody  say  the  Stoics  were  the  Avisest— 
that  your  true  Stoic  is  the  only  complete  man — king, 
and  cobbler  all  in  one. — Did  the  Stoics  say  this  ot 
themselves  1  (because  you  can  hardly  trust  a  man's 
own  account  of  himself;  )  or  did  other  people  say  it  of 
them  ?  Other  people,  also,  certainly — many  of  them. — 
Surely  not  the  philosophers  of  rival  sects'?  they  would 
not  say  so  1  ISTo. — It  was  people  who  were  not  philo- 
sophers at  all,  then  1  the  vulgar  and  illiterate,  in  fact  1 
and  could  a  man  of  sense  like  Hermotimus  really  go 
by  what  they  said  on  such  a  question  1  Nay,  but  he 
had  acted  on  his  own  judgment  as  well  :  he  had  ob- 
served the  Stoics  to  be  always  grave  and  well-behaved, 
and  respectably  dressed  ;  not  effeminate  like  some,  or 
rough  like  others.  Then,  says  Lycinus,  it  comes  to  this, 
— you  judge  wisdom  by  dress,  and  looks,  and  gait  : 
which  makes  it  hard  for  the  blind  man,  does  it  not  1 
how  is  lie  to  know  which  to  follow  t  Hermotimus 
does  not  consider  himself  bound  to  make  provision  for 
the  blind  :  that  is  an  extreme  case.  Well,  suppose 
we  leave  the  blind  to  shift  without  philosophy,  says 
Lycinus — though  they  seem  to  want  it  as  much  as 
anybody,  poor  fellows,  to  help  them  to  bear  their  in- 
firmity— still,  even  those  who  can  see,  how  can  they 
look  inside  a  man  and  know  what  he  really  is?  be- 
cause you  chose  these  men  as  guides,  I  suppose,  for 
their  insides,  not  their  outsides1?  The  student  feels 
that  he  is  no  match  for  his  opponent,  and  wants  to 
close  the  discussion.     '-Nothing  that  I  say  satisfies 


IIERMOTIMUS.  127 

you,"  he  sulkily  exclaims.  "Nay,"  says  the  other, 
"you  don't  try  to  satisfy  me.  You  want  to  go  and 
leave  me  here  in  the  slough  of  my  ignorance  :  you  are 
afraid  lest  I  should  become  as  good  a  philosopher  as 
yourself.  You  won't  teach  me.  So  now  you  must 
listen  to  me — only  don't  laugh  at  my  awkward  way  of 
putting  things."  The  passage  which  follows  is  too 
fine  to  mutilate. 

Lychnis.  I  picture  virtue  to  myself  in  this  way, — 
as  it  were  a  city  whose  inhabitants  are  perfectly  happy 
(as  your  teacher  would  surely  tell  us  if  he  could 
come  down  from  thence),  perfectly  wise  and  brave 
and  just  and  temperate,  little  less  than  gods.  And  in 
that  city  you  would  see  none  of  those  deeds  which  are 
common  here  among  us — men  robbing  and  committing 
violence,  and  overreaching  each  other :  but  they  live 
together  as  fellow-citizens  in  peace  and  harmony.  And 
no  wonder;  for  all  those  things  which  in  other  states 
cause  strife  and  contention,  and  for  the  sake  of  which 
men  plot  against  each  other,  are  put  far  away  from 
them :  for  they  regard  neither  gold,  nor  sensual  plea- 
sure, nor  glory,  not  holding  such  things  necessary  to 
their  polity.  Thus  they  lead  a  calm  and  entirely 
happy  life,  under  good  laws  and  with  equal  rights, 
liberty,  and  all  other  blessings. 

Hermotimus.  Well,  then,  Lycinus,  is  it  not  good 
for  all  men  to  wish  to  be  citizens  of  such  a  city,  and 
neither  to  regard  the  toil  of  the  road,  nor  the  long 
time  spent  in  the  pilgrimage,  so  only  they  may  reach  it, 
and  be  enrolled  on  its  records  and  share  its  privileges  1 


128  LUC  I  AN. 

Lye.  Ay,  verily  it  is,  Hermotimus.  That  would 
of  all  things  he  hest  worth  striving  for,  even  if  we 
had  to  give  up  all  hesides.  Nor,  though  this  present 
land  in  which  Ave  live  should  seek  to  hold  us  back, 
ought  we  to  regard  it ;  nor,  though  children  or  parents, 
if  we  have  them,  should  seek  with  tears  to  detain  us 
here,  ought  we  to  be  moved  by  them,  but  rather,  if 
we  may,  urge  them  to  follow  us  on  the  same  path,  and 
if  they  cannot  or  will  not,  then  shake  ourselves  free 
from  them,  and  make  straight  for  that  blessed  city — 
casting  off  our  very  garment,  if  they  cling  to  that  to 
retain  us, — eager  only  to  get  there  :  for  there  is  no  fear, 
believe  me,  that  even  the  naked  should  be  denied  ad- 
mittance if  they  reach  the  gate.  There  was  an  old 
man,  I  remember,  once  on  a  time,  who  discoursed  to 
me  of  how  matters  went  in  that  city,  and  exhorted 
me  to  follow  him  thither  :  he  would  lead  the  way,  he 
said,  and  when  I  came,  would  enrol  me  in  his  own 
tribe,  and  let  me  share  his  privileges,  and  so  I  should 
live  happy  there  with  them  all.  But  I,  in  my  youth- 
ful folly  (I  was  scarce  fifteen),  would  not  listen  to 
him,  or  I  might  now  be  in  the  suburbs  of  that  city,  or 
even  at  its  gates.*  Many  things  he  told  me  of  it,  as 
I  seem  to  remember,  and  among  them  this, — that  all 
there  were  strangers  and  immigrants,  and  that  many 

*  We  shall  never  know  Lucian's  full  meaning  here.  Is  tins 
hut  another  version  of  "  The  Dream,"  and  does  he  imply  that 
he  had  failed  to  carry  out  the  nobler  ideal  of  his  choice,  and 
had  sunk  into  the  mere  hired  pleader?  Or  had  he  some  higher 
"dream"  still  in  his  youth,  whose  invitation  he  was  conscious 
of  having  disobeyed  ? 


IIERM0T1MUS.  129 

barbarians  and  slaves,  nay,  and  deformed  persons,  and 
dwarfs,  and  beggars,  Avere  enrolled  among  its  citizens, 
and  in  short,  that  any  might  win  the  freedom  of  that 
city  who  would.  For  that  the  law  there  was  that  a 
man  should  be  ranked  not  by  his  dress,  or  his  station, 
or  his  beauty,  nor  yet  by  his  birth  and  noble  ancestry  : 
of  such  matters  they  took  no  account.  But  it  sufficed, 
in  order  to  become  a  citizen,  that  a  man  should  have 
sense,  and  a  love  of  the  right,  and  diligence,  and 
energy,  and  should  not  faint  or  be  discouraged  under 
the  many  difficulties  he  met  with  on  the  road :  so  that  he 
who  displayed  these  qualities,  and  made  good  his  way 
thither,  was  at  once  admitted  as  a  citizen  with  equal 
rights,  be  he  who  he  might :  and  such  terms  as  higher 
or  lower,  noble  or  plebeian,  bond  or  free,  were  never 
so  much  as  named  in  that  community. 

Herm.  You  see  then,  Lycinus,  it  is  no  vain  or  weak 
.aspiration  of  mine,  to  become  a  denizen  myself  of  such 
a  noble  and  blessed  republic. 

Lye.  Nay,  I  also,  my  friend,  have  the  same  longing 
as  yourself,  and  there  is  no  blessing  I  would  more 
devoutly  pray  for.  If  only  that  city  were  near,  and 
manifest  to  all  men's  eyes,  be  sure  that  I  had  long  ere 
this  become  a  citizen  of  it.  But  since,  as  you  say 
(both  you  and  Hesiod),  it  lies  far  off,  we  must  needs 
inquire  the  way,  and  seek  the  best  guide  we  can, — is 
it  not  so  1 

Heiin.  Else  we  shall  hardly  get  there. 

Lye.  Now,  so  far  as  promises  and  professions  of 
knowing  the  road  go,  we  have  guides  offering  them- 
selves in  plenty  :  many  there  are,  who  stand  ready, 

a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  I 


130  LUC  IAN. 

who  tell  us  they  are  actually  natives  of  the  place. 
But  it  would  seem  there  is  not  one  road  thither, 
hut  many,  and  all  in  different  directions — one  east, 
one  west,  one  north,  another  south ;  some  lead 
through  pleasant  meadows  and  shady  groves,  with  no 
obstacles  or  unpleasantness  ;  others  over  rough  and 
stony  ground,  through  much  heat  and  thirst  and  toil ; 
yet  all  are  said  to  lead  to  that  one  and  the  same  city, 
though  then-  lines  lie  so  far  apart. 

There  are  guides,  too,  each  recommending  their  own 
path  as  the  only  true  one ;  which  of  all  such  are  we 
to  follow  ]     There  is  Plato's  road,  and  Epicurus's  road, 
and  the  road  taken  by  the  Stoics  ;  who  is  to  say  which 
is  right  1     The  guides  themselves  know  no  road  bufc 
their  own  :  and  though  each  may  declare  that  they  have 
seen  a  city  at  the  end  of  it,  who  knows  whether  they 
mean  the  same  city,  after  all?     The  only  safe  guide 
would  be  the  man  who  had  tried  every  path, — who 
had  studied  profoundly  all  the  theories  of  Pythagoras, 
Plato,  Epicurus,  Chrysippus,  Aristotle,  and  the   rest, 
and    chosen    that  which,    from   his    own    knowledge 
and  experience,  he  found  to  be  the  best  and  safest. 
And  what  lifetime  would  suffice  for  this  1     "  Twenty 
years,"  says    his    friend    to  Hermotimus,    "you  have 
already  been  studying  undei  the  Stoics,  you  told  us ; 
and  some  twenty  more  you  thought  you  required  to 
perfect  yourself  in  their  philosophy.     And  how  many 
would  you  give  to  Plato  1  and  how  many  to  Aristotle  ' 
and  how  long  do  you  expect  to  live?  " 

Poor  Hermotimus  is  no  match  for  his  Socratic  cross 


IIERMOTIMUS.  131 

examiner.  He  declares,  with  great  truth  and  honesty, 
that  his  clever  friend  has  succeeded,  like  many  clever 
disputants,  in  making  him,  at  all  events,  very  uncom- 
fortahle,  and  that  he  heartily  wishes  he  had  never  met 
him  that  morning  in  his  quiet  meditations.  "  You 
always  were  overhearing  in  argument,  Lycinus  ;  I 
don't  know  what  harm  Philosophy  ever  did  you,  that 
you  hate  her  so,  and  make  such  a  joke  of  us  philo- 
sophers." "  My  dear  Hermotinius,"  calmly  replies  his 
friend,  "  you  and  your  master,  heing  philosophers, 
ought  to  know  more  ahout  Truth  than  I  do  :  I  only 
know  this  much, — she  is  not  always  pleasant  to  those 
who  listen  to  her." 

The  Dialogue  is  extended  to  some  length,  hut  the 
neophyte  Stoic  fails  to  hold  his  ground.  Lycinus  argues 
that  after  all  there  comes  no  answer  to  that  great  ques- 
tion— '  What  is  truth  1 '  It  may  he,  after  all,  that  she 
is  something  different  from  anything  yet  discovered. 
All  visions  of  her  are  but  different  guesses,  and  all  the 
guesses  may  he  wrong.  And  life  is  too  short  to  waste 
in  interminable  speculations.  "  Words,  words,"  are, 
in  the  opinion  of  Lycinus,  the  sum  of  the  philosophy 
of  the  day,  whereas  life  demands  action.  Hermotinius 
becomes  convinced  that  he  has  hitherto  been  wasting 
his  time ;  henceforth  he  will  try  to  do  his  duty  as 
a  private  citizen,  and  if  he  meets  a  professor  of  phi- 
losophy in  the  street,  will  "  avoid  him  as  he  would 
a  mad  dog." 

Lucian  is  best  remembered  as  a  satirist  and  a  jester, 
but  this  Dialogue  is  enough  to  prove  to  us  that  he  was 


132  LUCIAN. 

something  more.  He  jests  continually  at  the  false- 
hoods which  were  passed  off  as  Truth,  and  at  the 
douhtful  shadows,  of  various  shape  and  hue,  which 
confident  theorists  insisted  were  her  true  and  only 
emhodiment.  But  if  he  could  have  been  sure  of  her 
identity,  there  is  no  reason  to  think  he  would  not  have 
become  her  ready  and  willing  worshipper. 

THE   NEW    ICARUS. 

Hopelessly  puzzled  by  the  contradictory  theories  of 
the  philosophers,  especially  on  cosmogony,  the  Cynic 
Menippus  has  taken  a  journey  to  the  stars  to  see 
whether  he  may  possibly  learn  the  truth  there;  and 
in  the  Dialogue  which  bears  the  above  title  he  gives  an 
account  of  his  aerial  travels  to  a  friend.  He  had  made 
for  himself  a  rather  uneven  pair  of  wings  by  cutting  off 
one  from  an  eagle  and  one  from  a  vulture,  and  after  some 
preliminary  experiments  in  flying  had  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing good  his  first  stage,  to  the  Moon.  The  earth  and  its 
inhabitants  looked  wonderfully  small  from  that  height ; 
indeed,  except  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  and  the  watch- 
tower  of  Pharos,  he  could  make  out  little  or  nothing ; 
until  Empedocles,  whom  he  met  there  (looking  as  black 
as  a  cinder,  as  well  he  might,  having  so  lately  come  out 
of  the  crater  of  ^Etna),  showed  him  that  by  using  the 
eagle's  wing  only  for  a  while  he  might  also  acquire  the 
eagle's  vision.  Then  he  saw  many  things  not  clearly  dis- 
cernible to  ordinary  eyes,  for  his  new  sight  penetrated 
even  into  the  houses.  He  saw  the  Epicurean  forswear- 
ing himself  for  a  thousand  drachmas,  the  Stoic  quarrel- 


THE    NEW   ICARUS.  133 

ling  with  his  pupils  about  fees,  and  the  Cynic  in  very- 
bad  company.     For  the  rest,  the  world  was  going  on 
much  as  he  supposed ;  the  Egyptians  were  busy  cultivat- 
ing their  fields,  the  Phoenicians  making  their  merchant 
voyages,  the  Spartans  whipping  their  children,  andtho 
Athenians,  as  usual,  in  the  law-courts.*     "  Such,"  says 
tho  traveller,  "  is  the  confused  jumble  of  this  world.    It 
is  as  though  one  should  hire  a  multitude  of  singers, 
or  rather  bands  of  singers,  and  then  bid  each  performer 
choose  his  own  tune,  caring  nothing  for  the  harmony  ; 
each  singing  his  loudest,   and  going  on  with  his  own 
song,  and  trying  to  drown  his  neighbour's  voice — you 
may  judge  what  music  that  would  make.     Even  such, 
my  friend,  are  the  performers   on  earth,  and  such  is 
the  confused  discord  which  makes  up  human  life  ;  they 
not  only  sound  different  notes,  but  move  in  inharmoni- 
ous time  and  figure,  with  no  common  idea  or  purpose  ; 
until  the  choir-master  drives  them  all  from  the  stage, 
and  says  he  has  no  more  need  of  them."      He  won- 
dered, too,  and    could    not    forbear    smiling,  at    the 
quarrels  which  arise    between  men  about  their  little 
strips  of   territory,  when  to  his  eyes,  as  he    looked 
down,  "  all  Greece  was  but  four  fingers'  breadth."     It 
reminded  him  of  "  a  swarm  of  ants  running  round  and 
round  and  in  and  out  of  their  city, — one  turning  over 
a  bit  of  dung,  another  seizing  a  bean-shell,  or  half  a 

*  A  reminiscence  of  Aristophanes,  who  is  never  weary  of 
satirising  the  passion  of  Lis  fellow-citizens  for  law.  In  his 
"  Clouds "  (1.  280),  where  Strepsiades  is  shown  Athens  ou 
the  map,  he  exclaims — 

"  Athens !  go  to  !  I  see  no  law-courts  sitting." 


131  LUC  I  AN. 

grain  of  wheat,  and  running  away  with  it.  Probably 
among  them  too,  conformably  to  the  requirements  of 
ant-life,  they  have  their  architects,  and  their  popular 
leaders,  and  public  officers,  and  musicians,  and  philoso- 
phers." [If  his  friend  disapproves  of  the  comparison, 
he  bids  him  remember  the  old  Thessalian  fable  of  the 
Myrmidons.] 

He  was  just  taking  flight  again,  he  says,  when  the 
Moon — in  a  soft  and  pleasant  female  voice — begged 
him  to  carry  something  for  her  up  to  Jupiter.  "  '  By 
all  means,'  said  I,  '  if  it's  not  very  heavj'.'  '  Only  a 
message,'  said  she — 'just  a  small  petition  to  him.  I'm 
quite  out  of  patience,  Menippus,  at  being  talked  about 
in  such  a  shameful  way  by  those  philosophers,  who 
seem  to  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  speculate  about  me 
— what  I  am,  and  how  big  I  am,  and  why  I  am  some- 
times halved  and  sometimes  round.  Some  of  them  say 
I'm  inhabited,  and  others,  that  I  hang  over  the  sea  like 
a  looking-glass;  in  short,  any  fancy  that  comes  into  their 
heads,  they  apply  to  me.  And,  as  if  that  were  not 
enough,  they  say  my  very  light  is  not  my  own,  but  as 
it  were  of  a  bastard  sort,  borrowed  from  the  sun;  trying 
to  make  mischief  between  me  and  him — my  own 
brother — on  purpose  to  set  us  at  variance  ;  as  if  it  was 
not  enough  for  them  to  say  what  they  have  about  him, 
— that  he  is  a  stone,  and  nothing  but  a  mass  of  hre. 
How  many  stories  /  could  tell  of  them,  and  their 
goings-on  o'  nights,  for  all  the  grave  faces  and  severe 
looks  they  wear  by  day  !  I  see  it  all,  though  I  hold 
my  tongue — it  seems  to  me  scarcely  decent  tobrin,r  all 
their  proceedings  to  light.     So,  when  I   see   any  of 


THE    NEW   ICARUS.  135 

tbora  misbehaving,  I  just  wrap  myself  in  a  cloud, 
not  to  expose  them.  Yet  they  do  nothing  hut  discuss 
me  in  their  talk,  and  insult  me  in  every  way.  So 
that  I  swear  I  have  often  had  thoughts  of  going 
away  altogether  as  far  as  possible,  to  escape  their 
troublesome  tongues.  Be  sure  you  tell  Jupiter  this ; 
and  say  besides,  that  I  can't  possibly  stay  where  I 
am,  unless  he  crushes  those  physical  science  men, 
gags  the  Dialecticians,  pulls  down  the  Porch,  burns 
tho  Academy,  and  puts  a  stop  to  those  Peripatetics ; 
eo  that  I  may  have  a  little  peace,  instead  of  being 
measured  and  examined  by  them  every  day.'  'It 
stall  be  done,'  said  I,  and  so  took  my  leave." 

So  he  went  on,  and  reached  the  abode  of  Jupiter, 
where  he  hoped  at  first  to  get  in  without  notice,  being 
almost  half  an  eagle — that  bird  being  under  Jupiter's 
protection ;  but,  remembering  that,  after  all,  he  was 
also  half  a  vulture,  he  thought  it  best  to  knock  at  the 
door,  which  was  opened  by  Mercury.*  Jupiter  com- 
plimented him  highly  upon  his  courage  in  making 
the  journey,  though  the  other  gods  were  rather 
alarmed,  thinking  it  a  bad  precedent  for  mortals. 
The  monarch  of  Olympus  asked  him  a  good  many 
questions  as  to  the  goings-on  below,  about  which  he 
appeared  somewhat  curious  ; — "  What  the  price  of 
wheat  was  now?  What  sort  of  a  winter  they  had 
last  year  1 "  Especially  he  was  anxious  to  know  what 
mortals  really  thought  about  him.  Menippus  was 
very  diplomatic  in  his  answers.      "  '  What  can  they 

*  Lucian  evidently  has  in  mind  Trygreus's  reception  by  Mer- 
cury, in  the  "Peace"  of  Aristophanes,  i.  180,  &c. 


136  LUC  IAN. 

think,  your  majesty,'  said  I,  '  but  what  they  are 
in  duty  bound  to  think, — that  you  are  the  sovereign 
of  the  gods.'  '  Nonsense,'  replied  his  majesty  ;  '  I 
know  very  well  how  fond  they  are  all  of  something 
new.  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  thought  good 
enough  to  give  them  oracles,  and  heal  their  diseases, 
— when  Dodona  and  Pisa  were  in  all  their  glory,  and 
looked  up  to  by  everybody,  and  so  full  of  sacrifices 
that  I  could  hardly  see  for  the  smoke.  But  ever 
since  Apollo  set  up  his  oracle  at  Delphi,  and  iEscu- 
lapius  his  surgery  at  Pergamus,  and  Bendis  has  had 
her  worship  in  Thrace,  and  Anubis  in  Egypt,  and 
Diana  at  Ephesus,  they  all  run  there  to  hold  their 
festivals  and  offer  their  hecatombs,  and  look  upon 
me  as  old-fashioned  and  decrepit,  and  think  it  quite 
enough  to  sacrifice  to  me  once  in  six  years  at 
Olympia.' "  They  had  a  good  deal  more  chat  to- 
gether, says  Menippus,  after  which  Jupiter  took 
him  to  see  the  place  where  the  prayers  came  up — 
through  holes  with  covers  to  them.  Their  purport 
was  various  and  contradictory  :  one  sailor  praying  for 
a  north  wind,  another  for  a  south ;  the  farmer  for 
rain,  and  the  fuller  for  sunshine.  Jupiter  only  let 
the  reasonable  prayers  come  through  the  hole,  and 
blew  the  foolish  ones  back  again ;  but  was  sadly 
puzzled  by  the  contradictory  petitions, — especially 
when  both  petitioners  promised  him  a  hecatomb. 
This  business  over,  they  went  to  supper ;  and  Menip- 
pus was  highly  delighted  with  Apollo's  •  performance 
on  the  harp,  with  Silenus's  dancing,  and  with  the  re- 
citation of  some  of  Hesiod's  and  Pindar's  poetry  by  the 


THE   NEW   ICARUS.  137 

Muses.  A  general  council  of  the  gods  was  afterwards 
called,  in  which  Jupiter  announced  his  intention  of 
making  very  short  work  with  the  philosophers  of 
whom  the  Moon  had  complained.  Then  Menippus 
was  dismissed,  under  the  charge  of  Mercury,  who 
had  orders,  however,  to  take  off  his  wings,  that  he 
might  not  come  that  way  again  •  and  he  is  now 
hurrying,  he  tells  his  friend,  with  some  malicious 
enjoyment,  to  warn  the  gentlemen  of  the  Schools  of 
what  they  may  very  soon  expect  from  Jupiter. 


CHAPTER   V. 

SATIRES     ON     SOCIETY: 
THE   PARASITE — UPON  HIRED   COMPANIONS. 

It  needs  but  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Greek  and 
Roman  literature,  and  with  social  life  at  Athens  in 
its  later  days,  and  at  Rome  in  the  times  of  the  em- 
perors, to  know  that  the  men  of  rank  and  wealth 
filled  their  tables  not  only  with  their  private  friends, 
but  also  with  guests  who  stood  lower  in  the  social 
scale,  and  were  invited  because  they  contributed  in 
some  way  either  to  the  amusement  of  the  company 
or  to  the  glorification  of  the  host.  A  rich  man,  if  he 
had  any  pretence  to  a  good  position  in  society,  kept 
almost  open  house :  and  there  was  a  class  of  men 
who,  by  means  of  sponging  and  toadying,  and  all 
those  kindred  arts  which  are  practised,  only  under 
somewhat  finer  disguises,  in  modern  society,  contrived 
seldom  either  to  go  without  a  dinner  or  to  dine  at 
home.  This  disreputable  fraternity  of  diners-out — 
"Parasites,"  as  the  Greek  term  was  —  supplied  an 
inexhaustible  subject  for  the  satirist  and  the  play- 
writer,  as  has  been  already  noticed  in  these  volumes, 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  139 

in  examining  the  comedies  of  Plautus  and  Terence. 
Lucian  has  not  omitted  to  handle,  in  his  own  style, 
a  character  so  well  known,  and  which  presented  such 
fair  game  to  the  writer  who  set  himself  to  hunt  down 
the  follies  of  the  times.  Yet  the  little  dialogue  called 
"The  Parasite,"  in  which  he  introduces  one  of  these 
mendicants  of  society  arguing  stoutly  in  defence  of  his 
vocation,  is  one  of  the  most  good-humoured  of  all. 
Perhaps  there  was  an  amount  of  bonhomie  about  a 
man  who  could  not  afford  to  be  disagreeable  which  dis- 
armed the  satirist,  together  with  a  serio-comic  "  poor- 
devil"  misery  inevitable  to  his  position  which  excited 
pity  as  well  as  contempt.  Few  readers  can  lay  down 
the  "  Phormio  "  of  Terence  without  a  kindly  feeling 
towards  its  unabashed  and  ingenious  hero. 

Simo,  the  Parasite  of  Lucian's  Dialogue,  makes  open 
profession  of  his  vocation,  like  Phormio.  The  friend 
with  whom  the  conversation  is  carried  on,  knowing 
that  Simo's  private  means  are  small,  is  curious  to  know 
by  what  trade  or  employment  he  gains  his  living,  since 
he  cannot  make  out  that  he  follows  any.  Simo  assures 
him  that  there  is  a  school  of  art  in  which  he  is  a  per- 
fect master,  and  which  never  allows  him  to  be  in 
want  It  is  the  art  of  Parasitism.  And  he  proceeds 
to  prove,  by  an  argument  in  the  catechetical  stylo  of 
Socrates  and  Plato,  that  it  is  an  art  of  the  highest  and 
most  perfect  kind.  It  falls  quite  within  the  definition 
of  art  as  given  by  the  philosophers — "  a  system  of 
approved  rules  co-operating  to  a  certain  end,  useful  to 
society."  As  to  the  usefulness  of  the  end,  nothing  is 
so  useful — nay,  so  absolutely  needful — as  eating  and 


140  LUCIA  N. 

drinking.  It  is  not  a  gift  of  nature,  but  acquired, 
therefore  an  art,  if  the  schoolmen  be  right  in  their 
technical  distinctions.  It  is  also  most  practical,  which 
is  the  essence  of  a  perfect  art :  other  arts  may  exist 
in  their  possessor  in  posse,  yet  be  seldom  or  never  in 
operation  ;  whereas  this  must  be  always  at  work — for 
when  the  parasite  ceases  to  get  his  dinners,  there  is 
an  end,  not  only  of  the  art,  but  of  the  artificer.  It 
excels  all  other  arts  also  in  this, — that  whereas  most 
arts  require  toil  and  discipline,  and  even  threats  and 
stripes,  in  order  to  be  learnt  thoroughly — which  things 
are  manifestly  contrary  to  our  nature — this  art  can  be 
studied  pleasantly  and  cheerfully  without  any  of  these 
disagreeable  accompaniments.  "Who  ever  yet  re- 
turned in  tears  from  a  feast,  as  many  scholars  do  from 
their  masters  1  Who  that  is  going  to  a  good  dinner 
ever  looks  pale  and  melancholy,  as  those  do  who 
frequent  the  Schools  1 "  Other  arts  we  pay  to  learn, 
this  we  are  paid  for  learning ;  others  require  a  master, 
this  may  be  learnt  without.  Other  systems  seem 
vague;  all  give  different  definitions  of  wisdom  and 
happiness— and  that  which  is  so  indefinite  can  have 
no  real  existence  at  all ;  whereas  the  end  and  object 
of  Parasitism  is  distinct  and  obvious.  And  in  this 
alone  of  all  systems  the  practice  of  the  school  agrees 
with  its  professions.  And  whereas  no  parasite  was 
ever  known  to  desert  his  art  and  turn  philosopher, 
many  philosophers  have  turned  parasites,  and  do  so  to 
this  day.  Euripides  became  the  dependant  of  Arche- 
laus  of  Macedon ;  and  even  Plato  was  content  to  sit 
at  the  table  of  the  tyrant  Dionysius.    If  the  testimony 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  141 

of  the  wise  men  of  old  is  to  be  taken  in  evidence  of 
the  value  and  antiquity  of  the  art,  look  only  at  Homer, 
a  witness  whom,  the  speaker  hopes,  every  one  Avill 
admit.  He  makes  some  of  his  greatest  heroes  para- 
sites— old  Nestor,  always  a  guest  at  the  table  of  the 
King  of  Men,  and  Patroclus,  who  was  nothing  more  or 
less  than  the  parasite  of  Achilles,  and  whom  it  took 
the  combined  power  of  two  mortal  warriors  and  a  god 
to  kill,*  whereas  Paris  alone  proved  a  match  for  his 
master  Achilles,  as  Achilles  had  for  Hector.  Listen, 
he  says,  to  the  poet's  own  words  touching  this  great 
school  ot  the  table  : — 

"  Find  me  a  joy  to  human  heart  more  dear 
Than  is  a.  people's  gladness,  when  good  cheer 
Keigns,  and  all  listening  pause  in  deep  delight, 
When  in  mid  feast  the  hard  his  song  doth  rear, 
What  time  the  hoard  with  all  good  things  is  dight." 

And,  as  if  this  were  not  praise  enough,  he  adds 
again — 

"  Methinks  that  nothing  can  more  lovely  he  ! "  + 

By  such  ingenious  arguments,  not  at  all  an  unfair 
burlesque  upon  the  style  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  Simo 
succeeds  in  convincing  his  friend  of  the  superiority  in 
every  way  of  the  art  which  he  himself  follows  with  so 
much  success.  His  listener  determines  to  come  to 
him  for  instruction,  and  hopes,  as  he  is  his  first  pupil, 
that  he  will  teach  him  gratis. 

But  besides  this  lower  class  of  parasites,  who  sought 

*  Euphoibus,  Hector,  and  Apollo.    See  Iliad,  x\L 
t  Odyss.,  ix.  5,  &c. 


142  LUCIAN. 

a  precarious  dinner  from  day  to  day  by  making  them- 
selves agreeable  or  useful  to  their  entertainers,  the 
great  men  of  the  day  were  in  the  habit  of  receiving  at 
their  tables  as  daily  guests,  or  even  of  entertaining 
altogether  as  members  of  their  household, — often  in 
the  really  or  professed  capacity  of  tutors  to  their  sons, 
— guests  of  a  different  stamp.  The  man  of  wealth  and 
position  hardly  thought  his  establishment  complete, 
unless  it  comprised  some  of  the  representatives  of  litera- 
ture and  science — a  philosopher  or  two,  a  poet,  a  rhet- 
orician, or  a  historian.  There  was  not  necessarily 
anything  degrading  in  the  arrangement  to  1he  recipient 
of  such  hospitality.  He  might  consider  himself  as  the 
rightful  successor  of  the  bard  of  olden  times,  whose 
divine  song  was  more  than  payment  for  his  place  at 
the  feast,  and  to  whom,  by  prerogative  of  genius,  the 
highest  seat  at  the  king's  board,  and  the  best  portion 
from  the  king's  table,  was  by  all  willingly  accorded. 
On  such  terms  we  may  suppose  that  Plato,  in  spite  of 
Simo's  sarcasm,  lived  at  the  court  of  Dionysius ;  and 
with  a  scarcely  less  independent  feeling,  Horace  would 
tell  us  that  he  accepted  the  gracious  welcome  of  Maece- 
nas. But  guests  of  the  calibre  of  Plato  and  Horace 
were  few ;  and  men  who  had  neither  the  munificence 
of  Dionysius  nor  the  taste  of  Maecenas  yet  wanted  to 
have  the  Muses  represented  at  their  banquets.  If 
one  was  not  a  philosopher  or  a  poet  or  play-writer 
one's  self,  at  least  it  was  well,  since  such  things  were  the 
fashion,  to  be  in  the  fashion  so  far  as  to  have  them  in 
the  house.  If  it  Avas  as  troublesome  for  the  rich  man 
to  do  his  own  thinking  for  himself  as  the  oriental 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  U3 

would  consider  it  to  do  his  own  dancing,  it  was  desir- 
able to  have  it  done  for  him.  A  swarm  of  small 
sciolists,  and  worse  than  mediocre  poets,  and  UttSrateurs 
of  all  varieties,  rose  to  meet  the  demand,  and  sought 
places  at  great  men's  tables.  Conscious  that  their 
services  were  scarcely  worth  the  wages,  they  learnt  to 
be  not  too  fastidious  as  to  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  were  paid  :  while  the  patron,  feeling  that 
after  all  he  had  not  got  the  genuine  article,  was  not 
always  careful  to  make  the  payment  in  the  most 
gracious  manner. 

With  this  in  his  mind,  Lucian  writes  his  bitter  essay 
"  Upon  Hired  Companions,"  cast  in  the  form  of  a  letter 
to  a  friend  who  is  supposed  to  be  under  some  tempta- 
tion to  adopt  that  line  of  life.  He  draws  a  vivid  pic- 
ture of  the  humiliations  and  indignities  to  which  the 
Greek  scholar  is  likely  to  be  subjected  who  enters  the 
family  of  a  wealthy  nobleman  at  Rome,  in  the  capacity 
either  of  tutor  to  his  children  or  humble  literary  com- 
panion to  the  master  himself.  They  are  curiously 
similar  in  character  to  those  which,  if  we  trust  our 
own  satirists,  existed  in  English  society  a  century 
ago.  First,  there  is  the  difficulty  of  securing  a  proper 
introduction  to  the  patron.  The  candidate  must  be 
early  at  the  great  man's  door,  and  wait  his  leisure, 
and  fee  the  porter  well ;  must  dress  more  expensively 
than  his  purse  can  well  afford,  to  make  a  good  figure 
in  his  eyes ;  must  dance  attendance  at  his  levee  per- 
haps for  days,  and  at  last,  when  he  suddenly  con- 
descends to  notice  and  address  his  humble  servant, 
nervousness  and  embarrassment  will  so  overcome  the 


Hi  LUC1AN. 

unfortunate  man,  that  he  makes  an  absolute  fool  of 
himself  in  the  interview  which  he  has  so  anxiously 
desired,  and  leaves  an  impression  of  nothing  but  awk- 
wardness and  ignorance. 

But,  pursues  the  letter-writer,  supposing  that  your 
introduction  is  successful  :  supposing  that  the  great 
man's  friends  do  not  set  him  against  you,  that  the  lady 
of  the  house  does  not  take  a  violent  dislike  to  you, 
that  the  steward  and  the  housekeeper  are  graciously 
pleased  to  approve  of  you  on  the  whole, — still,  what 
an  ordeal  you  have  to  go  through  at  your  very  first 
dinner ! 

"  My  lord's  gentleman,  a  suave  personage,  brings 
you  the  invitation.  You  must  win  his  goodwill,  to 
begin  with  :  so,  not  to  seem  wanting  in  good  manners, 
you  slip  five  drachmae  into  his  hand,  at  the  least.  He 
affects  to  refuse  it.  '  From  you,  sir  1  Oh  dear,  no ! 
on  no  account — I  couldn't  think  of  it.'  But  he  is 
persuaded  at  last,  and  smiles  with  his  white  teeth  as 
he  takes  his  leave.  Well,  you  put  on  your  best  suit, 
and  get  yourself  up  as  correctly  as  you  can,  and  reach 
the  door — very  much  afraid  of  arriving  before  the 
other  guests,  which  is  as  awkward  as  coming  last  is 
rude.  So  you  take  careful  pains  to  hit  the  happy 
medium,  are  graciously  received,  and  are  placed  within 
a  few  seats  of  the  host, — just  below  two  or  three  old 
friends  of  the  house.  You  stare  at  everything  as  if 
you  had  been  introduced  all  at  once  into  the  palace  of 
Jupiter,  and  watch  every  detail  anxiously — all  is  so 
new  and  strange ;  while  the  whole  family  have  their 
eyes  on  you,  and  are  watching  what  you  will  do  next. 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  145 

Indeed  the  great  man  has  even  given  orders  to  some  of 
the  attendants  to  take  notice  whether  you  seem  to 
admire  his  wife  and  children  sufficiently.  Even  the 
servants  of  the  other  guests  who  are  present  notice  your 
evident  embarrassment,  and  laugh  at  your  ignorance  of 
the  ways  of  society,  guessing  that  you  have  never  been 
to  a  regular  dinner-party  before,  and  that  even  the 
napkin  laid  for  you  is  something  quite  new  to  you. 
No  wonder  that  you  are  actually  in  a  cold  sweat  from 
embarrassment,  and  neither  venture  to  ask  for  drink 
when  you  want  it,  for  fear  they  should  think  yon  a 
hard  drinker,  or  know  which  to  take  first  .and  which 
last  of  the  various  dishes  which  are  arranged  before 
you  evidently  in  some  kind  of  recognised  sequence  and 
order.  So  that  you  are  obliged  furtively  to  watch  and 
imitate  what  your  next  neighbour  does,  and  so  make 
yourself  acquainted  with  the  ceremonial  of  dinner." 

"  Such,"  says  the  letter-writer,  after  a  little  more 
description  of  the  same  kind, — "such  is  your  first 
dinner  in  a  great  man's  house :  I  had  rather,  for  my 
part,  have  an  onion  and  some  salt,  and  be  allowed  to 
eat  it  when  and  how  I  please."  Then  come  the  deli- 
cate arrangements  about  salary.  When  one  reads 
Lucian's  description  of  this,  it  is  almost  difficult  to 
believe  that  he  had  not  before  him  one  of  those 
modern  advertisements  for  a  governess,  who  is  expected 
to  possess  all  the  virtues  and  all  the  accomplishments, 
and  to  whom  "  a  very  small  salary  is  offered,  as  she 
will  be  treated  as  one  of  the  family."  "  We  are  quite 
plain  people  here,  as  you  see,"  says  the  pompous  Eoman 
to  the  new  tutor;  "but  you  will  consider  yourself 

A.  c.  vol.  xviii  K 


146  LUCIA  X. 

quite  at  home  with  us,  I  hope.  I  know  you  are  a 
sensible  man  :  I  know  you  have  that  happy  disposi- 
tion which  is  its  own  test  reward,  and  quite  under- 
stand that  you  do  not  enter  my  house  from  any  mer- 
cenary motives,  but  for  other  reasons, — because  you 
know  the  regard  I  have  for  you,  and  the  good  position 
it  will  give  you  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Still,  some 
definite  sum  srfould  be  fixed,  perhaps.  I  leave  it  to 
you  to  name  your  own  terms  ;  remembering,  of  course, 
that  you  will  have  a  good  many  presents  made  you  in 
the  course  of  the  year  :  but  you  scholars,  as  becomes 
your  profession,  are  above  mere  money  considerations, 
I  know."  At  last  it  is  agreed  to  leave  the  amount 
of  the  tutor's  salary  to  a  friend  of  the  family ;  and 
the  referee,  a  mere  creature  and  toady  himself,  after 
reminding  the  poor  scholar  of  his  extreme  good 
fortune  in  having  made  "such  a  valuable  connec- 
tion," names  a  sum  which  is  quite  ridiculously  in- 
adequate. 

This  is  not  the  worst.  The  unhappy  dependant 
will  soon  find  his  treatment  in  the  house  very  different 
from  his  first  introduction.  "You  must  not  expect  to 
have  the  same  fare  as  strangers  and  others  have  :  that 
would  be  considered  insufferable  presumption.  The 
dish  placed  before  you  will  not  be  the  same  as  the 
others.  Their  fowl  will  be  plump  and  well  fed  :  yours 
will  be  half  a  skinny  chicken,  or  a  dry  tough  pigeon ; 
a  direct  slight  and  insult.  Kay,  often,  if  the  bill  of 
fare  is  scanty,  and  an  additional  guest  comes  in,  the 
servant  will  actually  take  the  dish  from  before  you 
and  give  it  to  him  ;  whispering  familiarly  in  your  ear 


SATIRES  OiV  SOCIETY.  147 

■ — 'you're  one  of  the  family,  you  know.'  *  While  they 
are  drinking  good  old  wine,  you  will  he  expected  to 
swallow  some  muddy  vapid  stuff:  and  you  will  do 
well  to  drink  it  out  of  gold  or  silver  gohlets,  that  it 
may  not  he  plain  to  all,  from  the  colour  of  the  liquor, 
how  little  respect  is  paid  to  you  in  the  household. 
Even  of  this  poor  stuff  you  will  not  he  allowed  your 
fill ;  for  often,  when  you  call  for  it,  the  servant  will 
pretend  not  to  hear." 

He  warns  him,  also,  that  in  such  a  household  the 
preceptor  or  the  poet  will  he  held  of  less  account  than 
the  flutist,  or  the  dancing-master,  or  the  Egyptian  hoy 
who  can  sing  love-songs.  And  after  all,  do  what  he 
will,  he  will  hardly  please.  If  he  preserves  a  grave 
and  dignified  hehaviour,  he  will  he  called  churlish 
and  morose  ;  if  he  tries  to  he  gay,  and  puts  on  a 
smiling  face,  the  company  will  only  stare  and  laugh 
at  him. 

If  the  town  life  of  the  unfortunate  dependant  is 
full  of  such  mortifications,  matters  do  not  mend  much 
when  he  accompanies  his  patron  into  the  country. 
"  Amongst  other  things,  if  it  rains  ever  so  hard,  you 
must  come  last  (that  is  your  recognised  place),  and 
wait  for  a  conveyance ;  and,  if  there  is  no  room,  he 

*  Lucian  is  not  very  original  here.  He  hail  probahly  read 
the  fifth  Satire  of  Juvenal,  where,  among  other  indignities 
offered  to  the  poor  dependant,  even  the  bread  set  before  him  is 
of  very  inferior  quality — 

"  Black  mouldy  fragments  which  defy  the  saw, 
The  mere  despair  of  every  aching  jaw, 
While  manchets  of  the  finest  Hour  are  set 
Before  your  lord." — GLfford. 


148  LUCIAX. 

crammed  into  the  litter  with  the  cook  and  my  lady's 
woman,  with  scarce  straw  enough  to  keep  you  warm." 
And  the  writer  goes  on  to  relate  a  veritable  anecdote, 
told  him,  as  he  declares,  by  a  Stoic  philosopher  who 
had  been  so  unfortunate  as  thus  to  hire  himself  out 
into  the  service  of  a  rich  Eoman  lady.     The  story 
reads  almost  like  a  bit  out  of  Swift.     Travelling  one 
day  into  the  country  in  the  suite  of   his   patroness, 
he  found  a  seat  allotted  him  next  a  perfumed  and 
smooth-shaven    gentleman   who    held    an    equivocal 
position  in  the  lady's  household,  and  whose  bearing 
might  answer  to  that  of  the  French  dancing-master 
of  modern  satirists  ;  not  a  very  suitable  companion 
for  the  grave  philosopher,  who  rather  prided  himself 
on  a  venerable  beard  and  dignified  deportment.      Just 
as  they  were  starting,  the  lady,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
appealed  to  his  known  kindness  of  heart  to  do  her  a 
personal  favour.     Even  a  philosopher  could  not  refuse 
a  request  couched  in  such  terms.     "  Will  you  then  so 
far  oblige  me,"  said  she,  "as  just  to  take  my  dear  little 
dog  Myrrhina  with  you  in  the  carriage,  and  nurse  her 
carefully  1     She  is  not  at  all  well,  poor  dear — in  fact, 
very  near  her  accouchement ;   and  those  abominable 
careless   servants   of   mine  will   give   themselves   no 
trouble  about  me,' — much  less  about  her."     So,  during 
the  whole  journey,  there  was  the   little  beast  peeping 
out  of  the  grave  philosopher's  cloak,  yelping  at  inter- 
vals, and  now  and   then  licking  his  face,  and  making 
herself  disagreeable  in  clivers  ways  ;  giving  occasion  to 
his  companion  to  remark,  with  a  mincing  wit,  that  ho 
had  become  a  Cynic  philosoper  instead  of  a  Stoic  for 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  149 

the  present."  *  Those  who  liked  to  make  a  good  story 
complete  declared  afterwards  to  the  present  narrator 
that  the  philosopher,  before  they  reached  their  journey's 
end,  found  himself  nurse  to  a  litter  of  puppies  as 
well  as  to  their  interesting  mother. 

Scarcely  less  distasteful  is  the  duty  which  belongs 
to  the  literary  companion  of  listening  to  his  patron's 
compositions,  if  he  is  a  dabbler,  as  so  many  are,  in  poetry, 
or  history,  or  the  drama,  since  one  must  not  only  listen 
but  loudly  applaud  his  wretched  attempts  as  an  author. 
Or,  where  the  companion  is  expected  himself  to  give 
readings  of  his  own  to  amuse  the  leisure  of  his  patron, 
the  mortification  may  be  even  greater— especially  if,  as 
in  the  case  just  mentioned,  the  patron  be  of  the  softer 
sex.  "  It  will  often  happen  that  while  the  philosopher 
is  reading,  the  maid  will  bring  in  a  billet  from  a  lover. 
Straightway  the  lecture  upon  wisdom  and  chastity  is 
brought  to  a  stand-still,  until  the  lady  has  read  and 
answered  the  missive,  after  which  they  return  to  it 
with  all  convenient  speed."  t 

*  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  repeat  that  the  term  "  Cynic  "  is 
derived  from  the  Greek  for  "  dog." 

t  Some  readers  will  remember  the  anecdote  told  of  Dr , 

one  of  Queen  Anne's  chaplains.  His  duty  was  to  read  the 
Church  prayers  in  the  anteroom,  while  the  queen  was  at  her 
toilet  within.  Occasionally  the  door  was  shut,  "while  her 
majesty  was  shifting  herself,"  during  which  interval  the  doctor 
left  off,  and  resumed  when  the  door  was  reopened.  The  other 
chaplains  had  not  been  so  fastidious  ;  and  the  doctor  was  asked 
by  one  of  her  majesty's  women,  why  he  did  not  go  straight  on 
with  his  reading  :  upon  which  he  replied  that  he  "  woidd  never 
whistle  the  Word  of  God  through  a  keydiole." 


150  LUCIAN. 

The  writer  entreats  liis  friend  to  have  too  much 
self-respect  to  adopt  a  line  of  life  so  utterly  distasteful 
to  any  man  of  independent  spirit.  "  Is  there  no  pulse 
still  growing,"  he  asks  indignantly, — "  no  -wholesome 
herbs  on  which  a  man  may  sustain  life,  no  streams  of 
pure  water  left,  that  you  should  he  driven  to  this 
direst  strait  for  existence  V  If  a  man  will  deliberately 
choose  such  a  life,  he  bids  him  not  rail  at  his  fate 
hereafter,  as  many  do,  but  remember  those  words  of 
Plato,  —  "  Heaven  is  blameless  —  the  fault  lies  in 
our  own  choice." 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  we  here  are  reading 
satire,  and  not  social  history,  and  that  it  -would  be  un- 
fair to  judge  of  the  common  position  of  literary  men  in 
the  houses  of  the  great  from  this  highly  coloured  sketch 
of  Lucian's.  JSTo  doubt  there  were  still  to  be  found  hosts 
like  Maecenas  wherever  there  were  companions  like 
Horace.  Few  readers  can  have  followed  these  extracts 
from  Lucian's  description  of  the  literary  dependant  of 
his  own  day,  without  having  forcibly  recalled  to  them 
Macaulay's  well-known  picture  of  the  domestic  chap- 
lain of  the  days  of  the  Stuarts.  There  is  abundant 
material  for  that  brilliant  caricature  to  be  found,  of 
course,  in  the  satirists  and  the  comedy-writers  of  those 
times, — the  Lucians  of  the  day ;  and  they  no  doubt 
could  have  pointed  to  the  original  of  every  feature  in 
their  portraits.  It  does  not  follow  that  such  portraits 
are  to  be  taken  as  fair  representatives  of  a  class. 
But  we  must  remember  that  the  lively  author  we  have 
now  before  us  did  not  profess  to  be  writing  history; 
and  it  is  well  not  to  forget  in  reading  the  English 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  151 

historian's  pages  that  we  are  following  Oldham  and 
Swift. 

THE   MAUVEL-MONGEKS. 

We  have  seen  the  hitter  and  unsparing  ridicule  which, 
not  without  a  purpose,  Lucian  brings  to  hear  against 
the  fables  which  passed  under  the  name  of  religion  in 
his  day.  But,  if  he  laughed  at  Greek  mythology,  he 
hated  the  strange  and  outlandish  superstitions  which 
he  saw  creeping  in  at  Athens  and  at  Borne.  He  threw 
something  of  his  own  feeling  into  the  remonstrance  of 
the  "old  families"  of  Olympus,  when  they  saw  dog- 
headed  monsters  like  Anubis,  and  apes  and  hulls  from 
Memphis,  introduced  into  the  sacred  circle.  We  have 
no  need  to  depend  upon  satirists  like  Horace,  or 
Juvenal,  or  Lucian — we  need  only  go  to  the  pages  of 
the  historian  Tacitus — to  learn  how  the  superstitions 
of  Egypt  and  Asia  were  gaining  favour  with  the  aris- 
tocracy of  Rome.  "  Never,"  says  Wieland,  "  was  the 
propensity  to  supernatural  prodigies  and  the  eagerness 
to  credit  them  more  vehement  than  in  this  very  en- 
lightened age.  The  priestcraft  of  Upper  Eg3rpt,  the 
different  branches  of  magic,  divination,  and  oracles  of 
all  kinds,  the  so-called  occult  sciences,  which  associ- 
ated mankind  with  a  fabulous  world  of  spirits,  and 
pretended  to  give  them  the  control  over  the  powers  of 
nature,  were  almost  universally  respected.  Persons  of 
all  ranks  and  descriptions — great  lords  and  ladies, 
statesmen,  scholars,  the  recognised  and  paid  professors 
of  the  Pythagorean,  the  Platonic,  the  Stoic,  and  even 
the  Aristotelian  school,  thought  on  these  topics  exactly 


152  LUCIAN. 

as  did  the  simplest  of  the  people.  .  .  .  Meii  be- 
lieved everything — and  nothing." 

It  is  in  derision  of  this  passion  for  the  marvellous 
that  Lucian  composed  this  Dialogue  between  two 
friends,  Tychiades  and  Philocles,  of  Avhom  the  former 
may  be  taken  to  represent  the  author  himself.  Tychi- 
ades wants  to  know  why  so  many  people  prefer  lies 
to  truth1?  Well,  replies  his  friend,  in  some  cases 
men  are  almost  obliged  to  tell  lies  for  the  sake  of 
their  own  interest ;  and  in  war,  lies  to  deceive  an 
enemy  are  allowable.  But  some  people,  rejoins  the 
other,  seem  to  take  a  pleasure  in  lying  for  its  own 
sake ;  and  this  is  what  puzzles  him.  Herodotus  and 
Homer,  so  far  as  he  can  make  out,  were  notorious  liars  ; 
and  lied  withal  in  such  a  charming  way,  that  their  lies, 
unlike  most  others,  have  had  immense  vitality. 

Philocles  thinks  something  may  be  said  in  their 
defence  :  they  were  obliged,  in  order  to  be  popular, 
to  consult  the  universal  taste  for  the  marvellous. 
Besides,  if  all  the  old  Greek  fables  are  to  be  set 
aside,  what  is  to  become  of  the  unfortunate  people 
who  get  their  living  by  showing  the  antiquities  and 
curiosities  % 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Tychiades  has  been  quite  shocked 
and  astonished  at  what  he  has  heard  at  a  party  lately 
given  byhisfriendEucrates — a  grey-headed  philosopher, 
who  at  least  ought  to  have  known  better.  He  was  laid 
up  with  gout ;  and  the  lying  absurdities  which  his 
friends  and  physicians  were  prescribing  for  him  by 
way  of  remedies  were  atrocious.  A  weasel's  tootli 
wrapped  in  a  lion's  skin — though  the  doctors  gravely 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  153 

squabbled  whether  it  should  not  rather  be  a  deer-skin 
— did  any  one  ever  hear  the  like  1  And  then  the  guests 
had  all  set  to  work  to  tell  the  most  marvellous  stories 
— stories  which  go  a  long  way  to  show  how  little 
novelty  there  is  in  the  inventions  of  superstition ;  of 
magic  rings  made  out  of  gibbet  -  irons ;  of  haunted 
houses  in  which  ghosts  appeared  and  showed  the  way 
to  their  unburied  bones ;  of  a  statue  which  at  night 
stepped  down  from  its  pedestal  and  walked  about  the 
house,  and  even  took  a  bath — you  might  hear  him 
splashing  in  the  water;  of  a  slave  who,  having  stolen 
his  master's  goods,  was  every  night  flogged  by  an  invis- 
ible hand — you  could  count  the  wheals  upon  his  back 
in  the  morning  ;  of  a  little  bronze  figure  of  Hippocrates, 
only  two  spans  high  (this  is  the  doctor's  story),  who 
is  also  given  to  nocturnal  perambulations,  and,  small 
as  he  is,  makes  a  great  clatter  in  the  surgery,  upsetting 
the  pill-boxes  and  changing  the  places  of  the  bottles, 
if  he  has  not  had  proper  honour  paid  to  him  in 
the  way  of  sacrifice  during  the  year ;  of  a  colossal 
figure  terminating  in  a  serpent — Eucrates  has  seen  it 
himself — before  whose  feet  the  infernal  regions  opened. 
Eucrates'  own  wife,  again,  whom  he  had  burnt  and 
buried  handsomely,  with  all  her  favourite  dresses  too, 
in  order  to  make  her  as  comfortable  as  possihle  in  her 
new  state  of  existence,*  had  appeared  to  him  seven 
months  afterwards — "  while  I  was  lying  on  my  couch, 

*  Probably  founded  on  the  story  of  Melissa's  complaint  to 
her  husband  Periander,  that  she  was  cold  in  the  Shades  below, 
because  her  clothes  had  only  been  buried,  and  not  burnt,  with 
her. — Herodotus,  v.  92. 


154  LUC  I  AN. 

just  as  I  am  now,  and  reading  Plato  on  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul"  —  and  frightened  him  terribly. 
She  had  missed  an  article  of  her  wardrobe  —  one 
of  a  pair  of  golden  slippers  to  which  she  was  parti- 
cularly attached,  and  there  was  no  rest  for  her  per- 
turbed spirit  without  it.  Happily  the  slipper  was 
found  next  morning  in  the  very  place  which  the 
lady  had  indicated,  behind  a  chest,  and  was  duly 
burned  ;  and  both  husband  and  household  had  peace 
afterwards. 

Eucrates  had  another  story  to  tell  also,  of  something 
which  had  happened  to  himself — a  story  with  which 
we  are  tolerably  familiar  in  more  than  one  modern 
form,  but  which  it  may  be  amusing  to  read  here  in  an 
older  version.  The  narrator  had  the  good  fortune, 
on  a  voyage  up  the  Nile,  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  certain  Pancrates,  one  of  the  holy  scribes  of 
Memphis,  who  had  learnt  magic  from  the  goddess 
Isis  herself.  They  became  so  intimate  that  they 
agreed  to  continue  their  travels  together,  Pancrates 
assuring  his  friend  that  they  should  have  no  need 
of  servants. 

"  When  we  got  to  an  inn,  this  remarkable  man 
would  take  the  bar  of  the  door,  or  a  broom,  or  a 
pestle,  put  some  clothes  on  it,  mutter  a  charm  over 
it,  and  make  it  walk,  looking  to  every  one  else's  eyes 
for  all  the  world  like  a  man  :  it  would  go  and  draw 
water,  fetch  provisions  and  set  them  out,  and  make 
an  excellent  servant  and  waiter  in  all  respects.  Then, 
when  its  office  was  done  to  our  contentment,  he  would 
mutter  a  counter-charm,  and  make  the  broom  become  a 


SATIRES   ON  SOCIETY.  155 

broom  again,  and  the  pestle  a  pestle.  Now  this  charm 
I  never  could  get  him  to  disclose  to  me,  with  all  my 
entreaties ;  he  was  jealous  on  this  one  point,  though 
in  everything  else  he  was  most  obliging.  But  one 
day,  standing  in  a  dark  corner,  I  overheard  the  spell 
— it  was  but  three  syllables — without  his  knowing  it 
He  went  off  to  market  after  giving  the  pestle  its 
orders.  So  next  day,  when  he  was  gone  out  on 
business,  I  took  the  pestle,  dressed  it  up,  and  bid  it 
go  and  draw  water.  When  it  had  filled  the  pitcher 
and  brought  it  back,  "  Stop  !  "  said  I  ;  "  draw  no  more 
water ;  be  a  pestle  again."  But  it  paid  no  attention 
to  me,  but  went  on  drawing  water  till  the  whole  house 
was  full.  Not  knowing  what  on  earth  to  do  (for 
Pancrates  was  sure  to  be  in  a  terrible  way  when  he 
came  back,  as  indeed  fell  out),  I  laid  hold  on  a 
hatchet,  and  split  the  pestle  in  two.  At  once  both 
halves  took  up  a  pitcher  apiece,  and  began  drawing 
water.  So  instead  of  one  water-carrier,  I  had  two. 
In  the  middle  of  it  all,  in  came  Pancrates,  and  under- 
standing how  matters  stood,  changed  them  back  into 
wood  again  as  they  were  before.  Cut  he  Avent  off  and 
left  me  without  a  word,  and  I  never  knew  wdiat  be- 
came of  hi  in." 

They  afterwards  went  on  to  tell  so  many  horrible 
stories,  that  Tychiades  left  them  in  disgust ;  and 
he  declares  to  his  friend  that  even  now  he  has 
nothing  but  goblins  and  spectres  before  his  eyes 
ever  since,  and  would  give  something  to  forget  the 
conversation. 

A  passage  occurs  in  this  Dialogue  worthy  of  remark, 


156  LUCIAN. 

as  containing,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  one  of  the  few 
notices  of  Christianity  which  occur  in  contemporary- 
heathen  writers.     One  of  the  party  at  which  the  nar- 
rator was  present  speaks  of  having  heen  an  eyewitness 
of  certain  cures  worked  upon  "  demoniacs  "  hy  a  person 
of  whom  he  speaks  as  "that  Syrian  from  Palestine, 
whom  all  men  know."     "  He  would  stand  over  those 
possessed,  and  ask  the  spirits  from  whence  they  had 
entered  into  the  body?    and  the  sick  man  himself 
would  he  silent,  but  the  devil  would  reply,  either  in 
Greek  or  some  barbarous  tongue  of  his  own  country, 
how  and  from  whence  he  had  entered  into  the  man. 
Then  the  exorcist,    using  adjurations,    and,   if  these 
had  no  effect,  even  threats,  would  expel  the  spirit."  * 
It   has    been   thought    that   here  we   have  a  record 
of  healing  wrought  by  some  one  of   the    successors 
of  the    Christian   apostles.        It    must    be    observed, 
however,  that  the  cure  is  here  expressly  said  to  have 
been  performed  "  for  a  large  fee,"  and  that  we  have 
distinct   mention   in    the   Acts   of    the   Apostles    of 
professed  exorcists  who  were  not  Christians. 


The  "Saturnalia,"  and  the  piece  called  "Nigrinus," 
may  also  be  classed  with  the  preceding.  In  the  first, 
the  author  takes  occasion  of  the  well-known  annual 
festival,  kept  in  remembrance  of  the  "  good  old  times," 
at  which  so  much  general  licence  was  allowed  even  to 
slaves,  to  deal  some  good-humoured  blows  at  the  follies 
of  the  day  ;  and  at  the  same  time  to  introduce  Saturn 

*  "  The  Marvel-Mongers"  (Philopseudcs),  16. 


SATIRES  ON  SOCIETY.  157 

himself  as  a  poor  gouty  decrepit  old  deity,  quite  out  of 
date,  and  to  remark  upon  Jupiter's  unfdial  conduct  in 
turning  him  out  of  his  kingdom.  In  the  latter  Dia- 
logue, a  Platonic  philosopher  named  Nigrinus  (whether 
a  real  or  imaginary  personage  is  not  certainly  known) 
contrasts  the  pomp  and  luxury  of  Eoman  city  life  with 
the  simpler  hahits  of  the  Athenians. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LUCIAN    AS    A    ROMANCE-WRITER. 

"We  can  readily  see,  from  the  spirit  and  vivecity  of 
Lucian's  Dialogues,  what  an  admirable  novelist  he 
would  have  been  ;  especially  if  he  had  chosen  the  style 
which  has  of  late  become  deservedly  popular,  where 
nice  delineation  of  character,  and  conversation  of  that 
clever  and  yet  apparently  natural  and  easy  kind  in 
which  "  the  art  conceals  the  art,"  form  the  attraction 
to  the  reader,  rather  than  exciting  incidents  or  elabor- 
ate plot.  But  this  kind  of  literature  had  yet  to  be 
born.  Lucian  has  left  us,  however,  two  short  romances, 
if  they  may  be  so  called,  which  it  would  be  hardly  fair 
to  compare  Avith  modern  works  of  fiction,  but  which 
show  that  he  possessed  powers  of  imagination  admit- 
ting of  large  and  successful  development  if  his  own 
age  had  afforded  scope  and  encouragement  to  literary 
efforts  of  that  kind.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the 
modern  novel,  in  all  its  various  types,  is  the  special 
product  of  modern  society;  the  love -tales  which 
so  largely  form  its  staple,  and  the  nice  distinctions  of 
character  on  which  so  much  of  its  interest  depends, 
spring  entirely  out  of  the  circumstances  of  modern 


LUCTAN  AS  A   ROMANCE-WRITER.  159 

civilisation,  and  could  have  no  place  in  Greek  or 
Roman  life  in  the  days  of  Lucian.  Yet  he  may  fairly 
claim  to  have  furnished  hints,  at  least,  of  which  later 
workers  in  the  same  field  have  taken  advantage. 

One  of  these  tales  Lucian  has  entitled  "  The  Veraci- 
ous History."  Even  here  he  preserves  his  favourite, 
character  of  satirist ;  for  he  glances  slyly,  both  in  the 
opening  of  his  story  and  throughout  it,  at  the  stories 
told  hy  the  old  poets  and  historians,  which  he  would 
have  us  understand  are  often  about  as  "  veracious  "  as 
his  own.  His  old  quarrel  with  the  pretenders  to 
philosophy  breaks  out  also  from  time  to  time  in  the 
same  pages.  He  introduces  his  story  (which  is  the 
account  of  an  imaginary  voyage  made  into  certain  un- 
discovered regions)  by  a  kind  of  preface,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  portion. 

"  Ctesias,  son  of  Ctesiochus,  of  Cnidus,  has  written 
an  account  of  India,  and  of  the  things  there  which  he 
never  either  saw  himself  or  heard  from  any  one  else. 
So  also  lambulus  has  told  us  a  great  many  incredible 
stories  about  things  in  the  great  ocean,  which  every- 
body knew  to  be  false,  but  which  he  has  put  to- 
gether in  a  form  by  no  means  unentertaining.*  So 
many  others  besides,  with  the  same  end  in  view,  have 
related  what  purported  to  be  their  own  travels  and 
adventures,  describing  marvellously  large  beasts  and 
savage  men,  and  strange  modes  of  life.     But  the  ring- 

*  Ctesias's  '  Indica,'  of  which  Photius  gives  an  abridgment, 
though  to  some  extent  fabulous,  is  not  so  contemptible  as  Lu- 
cian represents.  lambulus,  whose  account  of  India  Diodorug 
Siculus  adopts,  seems  to  have  indulged  in  pure  fiction. 


1G0  LUC  I  AN. 

leader  and  first  introducer  of  this  extravagant  style 
is  that  Ulysses  of  Homer's,  telling  his  stories  at  the 
court  of  Alcinb'us,  about  the  imprisonment  of  the 
■winds,  and  the  one-eyed  Cyclops,  and  the  man-eaters, 
and  suchlike  savage  tribes  ;  and  about  creatures  with 
many  heads,  and  the  transformation  of  his  comrades 
by  magic  potions,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  with  which  he 
astonished  the  simple  Phrcacians.  "When  I  read  all 
these,  I  do  not  blame  the  writers  so  much  for  their  lies, 
because  I  find  the  custom  common  even  with  those 
who  pretend  to  be  philosophers.  All  I  wonder  at  is, 
that  they  should  ever  have  supposed  that  people  would 
not  find  out  that  they  were  telling  what  was  not  true. 
"Wherefore,  being  myself  incited  (by  an  absurd  vanity, 
I  admit)  to  leave  some  legacy  to  posterity,  that  I  may 
not  be  the  only  man  without  my  share  in  this  open 
field  of  story-telling,  and  having  nothing  true  to  tell 
(for  I  never  met  with  any  very  memorable  adventures), 
I  hive  turned  my  thoughts  to  lying  ;  in  much  more  ex- 
cusable fashion,  however,  than  the  others.  For  I  shall 
certainly  speak  the  truth  on  one  point, — when  I  tell 
you  that  I  lie  ;  and  so  it  seems  to  me  I  ought  to  escape 
censure  from  the  public,  since  I  freely  confess  there  is 
not  a  word  of  truth  in  my  story.  I  am  going  to  write, 
then,  about  things  which  I  never  saw,  adventures 
I  never  went  through,  or  heard  from  any  one  else ; 
things,  moreover,  which  never  were,  nor  ever  can  be. 
So  my  readers  must  on  no  account  believe  them." 

The  adventures  of  the  voyagers  "  from  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules  into  the  "Western  Ocean  "  are  indeed  of  the 
most  extravagant  kind.     They  have  all  the  wild  im- 


LUCIAN  AS  A   ROMANCE- WRITER.  1G1 

possibilities  without  much  of  the  picturesqueness  of 
an  Eastern  tale.  A  burlesque  resemblance  is  kept  up 
throughout  to  the  kind  of  incident  which,  in  the 
mouths  of  the  old  bards,  had  passed  for  history.  "VVe 
read  how  they  came  to  a  brass  pillar  with  an  almost 
illegible  inscription,  marking  the  limit  of  the  travels  of 
Hercules  and  Bacchus,  and  found  near  it  on  a  rock 
the  prints  of  two  footsteps,  one  "  measuring  about  an 
acre  " — plainly  that  of  Hercules  ;  the  smaller  one,  of 
course,  belonged  to  Bacchus  :  how  they  found  rivers 
of  native  wine, — a  manifest  confirmation  of  the  visit 
of  the  latter  god  to  those  parts  :  and  how  a  whirl- 
wind carried  them,  ship  and  all,  up  into  the  moon, 
where  they  made  acquaintance  with  Endymion,  and 
saw  the  earth  below  looking  like  a  moon  to  them, 
Avhich  shows  that  Lucian  was  not  so  far  wrong 
in  his  astronomy.  How  their  ship  Avas  swallowed 
by  a  sea-monster,  and  they  lived  inside  him  a  year 
and  eight  months,  carrying  on  a  small  war  against 
a  previous  colony  whom  they  found  established 
there  :  and  effected  their  escape  at  last  by  lighting  an 
enormous  fire,  so  that  the  monster  died  of  internal 
inflammation.  After  this  they  made  their  way  to  that 
hitherto  undiscovered  country,  the  '  Island  of  the 
Blest,'  when  they  were  bound  in  fetters  of  roses,  and 
led  before  Bhadamanthus,  the  king.  We  have  a  glow- 
ing description  of  the  city,  with  its  streets  of  gold  and 
walls  of  emerald,  temples  of  beryl  and  altars  of  ame- 
thyst ;  where  there  was  no  day  or  night,  but  a  per- 
petual luminous  twilight ;  where  it  was  always  spring, 
and  none  but  the  south  wind  blew ;  and  where  the  vines 
a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  l 


162  LUCIAN. 

ripened  their  fruit  every  month.*  There  they  found 
most  of  the  heroes  of  Grecian  legend  and  of  later 
history.  Philosophers,  too — genuine  philosophers — 
were  there  in  good  number.  And  here  the  satirist 
quite  gets  the  mastery  over  the  story-teller.  Plato 
was  remarked  as  absent ;  he  preferred  living  "  in  his 
own  Republic,  under  his  own  laws,"  to  any  Elysium 
that  could  be  offered  him.  The  Stoics  had  not  yet 
arrived,  when  these  voyagers  reached  the  island,  though 
they  were  expected  ;  Hesiod's  '  Hill  of  Virtue, 't  which 
they  all  had  to  climb,  was  such  a  very  long  one.  Neither 
were  the  Sceptics  of  the  Academy  to  be  seen  there ; 
they  were  thinking  of  coming,  but  had  "  doubts  "  about 
it — doubts  whether  there  Avere  any  such  place  at  all ; 
and  perhaps,  thinks  Lucian,  they  were  shy  of  encoun- 
tering the  judgment  of  Rhadamanthus,  having  a  pro- 
found dislike  to  any  decisive  judgment  upon  any  sub- 
ject whatever. 

The  travellers  would  gladly  have  remained  in  the 
Happy  Island  altogether,  but  this  was  not  allowed. 
They  were  promised,  however,  by  Rhadamanthus,  that  if 
during  their  further  voyage  they  complied  with  certain 
rules,  which  remind  us  of  the  old  burlesque  oath  for- 

'  *  It  has  been  thought  that  the  writer  must  either  have  seen 
or  heard  of  the  description  of  the  New  Jerusalem  in  the  Revela- 
tion. But  figurative  diction  has  always  some  features  in 
common  ;  and  in  this  passage  reminiscences  of  the  Greek  poets 
are  very  evident.  The  ingenuity  of  some  commentators  has 
discovered,  not  only  here,  but  throughout  this  "Veracious 
History,"  an  intentional  travesty  of  Scripture.  But  such  an 
idea  is  surely  fanciful. 
+  Seep.  121. 


LUCIAN  AS  A   ROMANCE-WRITER.  1G3 

merly  sworn  by  travellers  at  Highgate — such  as  "  never 
to  stir  the  fire  with  a  sword,  and  never  to  kiss  any 
woman  above  two-and-twenty  "  * — they  should  in  good 
time  find  their  way  there  again.  Just  as  the  writer  is 
taking  his  leave,  "  Ulysses,  unknown  to  Penelope, 
slipped  into  his  hand  a  note  to  Calypso,  directed  to 
the  island  of  Ogygia."  The  note,  in  the  course  of  their 
subsequent  wanderings,  was  duly  delivered,  and  Calypso 
entertained  the  bearers  very  handsomely  in  her  island; 
asking,  not  without  tears,  many  questions  about  her  old 
lover  ;  and  also — whether  Penelope  was  really  so  very 
lovely  and  so  virtuous  1  to  which,  very  prudently,  says 
Lucian,  "  we  made  such  a  reply  as  we  thought  would 
please  her  best." 

They  meet  with  some  other  adventures,  tedious  to 
our  ears,  sated  as  they  are  with  fiction  in  all  shapes, 
but  probably  not  so  to  the  hearers  or  readers  to  whom 
Lucian  addressed  them.  But  either  he  grew  tired  of 
story  -  telling,  or  the  conclusion  of  this  "Veracious 
History "  has  been  lost ;   for  it   breaks  oft   abruptly, 

*  This  latter   caution  bears  a   curious  similarity  to   one  of 
the  parting   injunctions    which   Perceval  (or   Peredur),   when 
setting  out  from  home  in  quest  of  adventures,  receives  from  his 
mother,  and  which  appears  with  little  variation  in  the  Welsh, 
Breton,  and  Norman  legends — to  kiss  every  demoiselle  he  meets, 
without  waiting  for  her  permission ;  it  is,  she  assures  him,  a 
point  of  chivalry.     He  carries  out  his  instructions,  according  to 
one  raconteur,  by  kissing  the  first  lady  he  falls  in  with  "  vingt 
fois,"  in  spite  of  her  resistance,  pleading  his  filial  obligation  : 
"  Ma  mere  m'enseigna  et  dit 
Que  les  puceles  saluasse 
En  quel  lieu  que  je  les  trovasse." 

— Chrestien  de  Troyes. 


164  LUCIAN. 

leaving  some  promises  made  in  the  early  portion  un- 
fulfilled. 

De  Bergerac,  in  his  '  Voyage  to  the  Moon '  and 
'  History  of  the  Empire  of  the  Sun,'  Swift,  in  his 
'  Gulliver's  Travels,'  Quevedo,  in  his  '  Visions,'  and 
Rabelais,  in  his  '  History  of  Gargantua  and  Pantagruel,' 
are  all  said  to  have  borrowed  from  this  imaginary  voy- 
age oi  Lucian's.  But  they  can  have  taken  from  him 
little  more  than  crude  hints,  and  Swift  at  least  owes 
a  much  larger  debt  to  De  Bergerac  than  to  Lucian. 


Lucius,  or  The  Ass,  is  another  short  essay  in  fiction, 
complete  in  itself,  and  approximating  more  closely  to 
our  modern  idea  of  a  story.  It  relates  the  transforma- 
tion of  the  hero  into  an  ass,  through  the  accidental 
operation  of  the  charm  of  a  sorceress,  and  his  restora- 
tion, after  a  variety  of  adventures  in  his  quadruped 
form,  into  his  own  proper  shape  by  feeding  on  some 
roses.  It  is  not  certain  whether  the  story  is  original, 
or  merely  an  abridgment  in  our  author's  own  style 
from  a  tale  by  one  Lucius  of  Patrse.  The  "  Golden 
Ass"  of  Apuleius  (written  probably  at  about  the  same 
date)  seems  to  be  founded  either  on  this  piece  of 
Lucian's  or  on  the  common  original,  but  Apuleius 
extends  the  tale  to  greater  length.  The  experiences 
of  Lucius  in  the  person  of  the  ass,  while  retaining  all 
his  human  faculties,  are  fairly  amusing,  but  not  tempt- 
ing either  for  extract  or  abridgment.  The  piece  is 
chiefly  interesting  as  one  of  the  few  surviving  speci- 
mens of  an  ancient  novelette. 

Shorter,  but  much  more  amusing,  is  the  pleasant 


LUCIA  X  AS  A   ROM  A  NCE -WRITER.  IG5 

little   sketch,   oast   in   Lucian's    favourite   form    of  a 
Dialogue — "  The  Cock  and  the  Cobbler." 

The  Cohhler  is  our  old  friend  Micyllus,  who  is 
awakened  one  morning  much  earlier  than  he  likes  by 
the  crowing  of  his  cock,  whom  he  declares  lie  would 
kill  if  it  were  not  too  dark  to  catch  him.  The  Cock 
remonstrates :  he  is  only  doing  his  duty  ;  and  if  his 
master  will  not  get  up  and  make  a  shoe  before  break- 
fast, he  is  very  likely  to  go  without.  Micyllus  is  very 
much  startled  at  the  prodigy  of  a  cock's  finding  a 
human  voice ;  upon  which  the  bird  remarks  that  if 
Achilles's  horse  Xanthus  could  make  a  long  sptech, 
and  in  verse  too,  and  the  half-roasted  oxen  in  the 
Odyssey  could  low  even  on  the  spit — and  there  is 
Homer's  excellent  authority  for  both  *  —  surely  he 
may  say  a  few  words  in  humble  prose.  Besides,  if 
his  master  wants  to  know,  he  has  not  always  be^n  a 
bird — he  was  a  man,  once  upon  a  time  :  Micyllus  has 
surely  heard  of  the  great  philosopher  Pythagoras,  and 
his  transformations?  Yes,  Micyllus  has  heard  all 
about  it—  and  a  great  impostor  he  was.  "  Pray,  don't 
use  violent  language,"  replies  the  Cock  ;  "  I  am 
Pythagoras — or  rather,  I  was."  He  proceeds  to  ex- 
plain how  many  and  various  transmigrations  he  has 
already  gone  through ;  he  has  been  a  king,  a  b^'gar, 

*  It  will  Le  observed  that  Lucian  is  continually  jesting  upon 
the  marvels  related  by  Homer,  and  affecting  to  be  shocked  at 
them  as  palpable  lies.  But  his  very  familiarity  with  the  poet 
is  proof  sufficient  of  his  real  appreciation  of  him.  Like  the  old 
angler,  he  puts  him  on  his  hook,  but  still  "handles  him  ten- 
derly, as  though  he  loved  him." 


1G6  lucian. 

a  woman,  a  horse,  and  a  jackdaw ;  and  never  more 
miserable  than  in  the  character  of  a  king.  Micyllus 
expresses  great  surprise  at  this  statement :  for  his  own 
part,  riches  are  the  one  thing  he  has  always  longed 
for;  and  the  reason  for  his  having  been  so  angry 
now  at  being  awakened  was  that  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  most  charming  and  interesting  dream — it  was,  that 
he  had  inherited  all  the  great  wealth  of  his  rich 
neighbour  Eucrates,  and  was  giving  a  grand  supper 
on  the  occasion.  He  had  thought  he  should  now 
be  able  to  repay  the  insolence  of  his  former  acquaint- 
ance Simo,  who  from  a  cobbler  like  himself  bad  be- 
come suddenly  a  rich  man,  and  would  no  longer  recog- 
nise his  old  associate.  The  Cock  assures  his  master 
that  in  his  present  poor  estate  he  is  really  happier  than 
many  of  the  wealthy  and  great ;  and  he  will  give  him 
proof  positive  of  his  assertion.  One  of  the  two  long 
feathers  in  his  (the  cock's)  tail — the  right-hand  one — 
has  the  miraculous  power  of  opening  locks,  and  even 
making  a  passage  through  walls  :  he  bids  Micyllus  pull 
it  out.  The  cobbler  pulls  out  both,  to  make  sure,  at 
which  the  Cock  is  very  angry,  until  assured  by  his  master 
that  with  one  feather  he  would  have  looked  very  lop- 
sided. Armed  with  this  talisman  (the  same  which  Le 
Sage  has  borrowed  for  his  '  Diable  Boiteux'),  the  pair 
fly  through  the  sleeping  city  from  house  to  house.  They 
visit  amongst  others  Simo  and  Eucrates  :  they  find  the 
former  hiding  his  money,  unable  to  sleep,  in  an  agony 
for  fear  of  thieves ;  and  the  latter  cheated  and  be- 
trayed by  his  wife  and  his  servants.  And  the  cobbler 
goes  back  home  a  wiser  and  more  contented  man. 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

LDCIAN    AND    CHRISTIANITY. 

TnE  notices  of  Christianity  to  be  found  in  heathen 

authors  who  were  either  contemporary  with  its  great 

Founder,  or  who  wrote  during  the  early  ages  of  the 

Christian  Church,  are  so  few,  that  even  the  slightest 

has  an  interest  beyond  what  would  otherwise  be  its 

historical  importance.     The  rarity  of  such  notices,  and 

their  general  brevity  and  indistinctness,  is  apt  to  surprise 

us,  untd  we  recollect  that  Christianity  did  not  for  some 

time  make  that  impression  upon  the  heathen  world 

which  from  our  own  point  of  view  we  might  naturally 

expect.    The  Christians  were  long  regarded  as  merely  a 

sect  within  a  sect,  and  that  an  insignificant  and  despised 

one  :  even  historians  like  Tacitus  and  Suetonius  saw  in 

the  "  Christus  "  whom  they  both  mention  little  more 

than  a  ringleader  of  turbulent  Jews.      Superstitions 

of  all  kinds  and  from  all  quarters  were  crowding  in,  as 

we  may  see  even  from  Lucian's  own  pages,  upon  the 

ground  which  the  priesthood  of  pagan  Rome  were 

striving  to   hold  by  making  the  national  religion  so 

"catholic"  as  to  include  the  gods  of  as  many  other 

creeds  as  they  could.     Men  believed,  as  Wielund  says, 


168  LUC  I  AN. 

"  everything,  and  nothing."  A  new  god  or  a  new 
superstition  more  or  less  made  not  much  impression  on 
the  popular  mind.  The  very  feeling  to  which  St  Paul 
appeals  at  Athens,  their  readiness  to  adopt  even  an 
"  unknown  God,"  is  evidence  of  a  latitudinarianism 
in  such  matters  which  at  once  gave  hope  of  toleration, 
and  opened  a  dreary  prospect  of  indifference.  And 
indifference  was,  no  doubt,  the  feeling  with  which 
the  Christians  were  widely  regarded,  unless  when  by 
some  misrepresentation  of  their  doctrines  they  were 
denounced  as  plotters  against  the  throne  or  the  life  of 
the  reigning  emperor,  and  the  populace  was  hounded 
on  against  them,  as  in  more  modern  times  against  the 
Jews,  as  atheists,  sorcerers,  and  enemies  of  the  state. 

The  attitude  of  Lucian  towards  Christianity  has 
"been  the  subject  of  more  discussion  than  that  of  any 
other  heathen  writer.     He  has  written  an  account  of 
the  self-immolation  of  one  Peregrinus  or  Proteus,  about 
whose  character  and  antecedents  the  learned  are  not 
quite  agreed.      If  Lucian' s  history  of  him  is  to  be 
trusted,  he  was  a  Hellespontine  Greek,  who,  after  a 
youth  of  great  profligacy,  had,  either  from  conviction 
or  more  probably  for  selfish  ends,  become  a  Christian, 
had  held  high  office  in  the  Church,  and  attained  a 
position  of  great  influence  in  the  body,  combining  the 
pretensions  of  a  Cynic  philosopher  with  those  of  a 
Christian  priest.      He  had  even  suffered  for  his  pro- 
fessed faith,  and  been  imprisoned  by  the  governor  of 
Syria.     But  this  imprisonment  Lucian  thinks  he  pur- 
posely sought  in  order  to  obtain  notoriety,  which  object 
the  governor  was  aware  of,  and  disappointed  him  by 


/ 


LUCIAN  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  1G9 

setting  him  free.  He  afterwards  travelled,  supported, 
according  to  apostolic  precedent,  byliis  fellow-believers; 
but  being  detected  in  some  profanation  (apparently)  of 
the  Eucharist,*  he  threw  off  his  profession,  and  returned 
to  his  old  profligate  life.  Expelled  from  Eome  by  the 
authorities  for  his  scandalous  conduct  there,  he  endea- 
voured without  success  to  excite  the  people  of  Elis  to 
revolt  against  the  Roman  Government ;  and  at  length, 
finding  his  popularity  and  influence  on  the  wane,  sought 
to  restore  it  by  giving  out  publicly  that  he  would  burn 
himself  solemnly  at  the  forthcoming  Olympic  games. 
This  intention,  strange  to  say,  ho  actually  carried  into 
execution ;  whether  from  an  insane  desire  for  posthu- 
mous notoriety,  or  whether,  hoping  to  be  rescued  at 
the  last  moment  by  his  friends,  he  had  gone  too  far  to 
recede,  is  not  at  all  clear  from  any  version  of  the  story. 

Lucian  was  an  eyewitness  of  this  very  remarkable 
spectacle,  of  which  he  gives  an  account  in  the  shape 
of  a  letter  to  a  friend,  prefacing  it  with  a  short  bio- 
graphical sketch,  touched  in  very  dark  colours,  of  a 
man  whom  he  considers  to  have  been,  both  in  his  life 
and  death,  a  consummate  impostor.  These  are  the 
passages  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  Christians  : — 

"About  this  time,  Peregrinus  became  a  disciple  of 
that  extraordinary  philosophy  of  the  Christians,  having 
met  with  some  of  their  priests  and  scribes  in  Palestine. 
He  soon  convinced  them  that  they  were  all  mere  chil- 

*  Lucian 's  words  are,  "  I  believe  it  was  eating  certain  food  for- 
bidden among  them."  This  may  have  reference  to  the  "  meats 
ottered  to  idols  : "  or  he  may  very  probably  here,  as  elsewhere, 
coniound  Christians  with  Jews. 


170  LUCIAiV. 

dren  to  him,  becoming  their  prophet  and  choir-leader 
and  chief  of  their  synagogue,  and,  in  short,  everything 
to  them.  Several  of  their  sacred  books  he  annotated 
and  interpreted,  and  some  he  wrote  himself.  They 
lield  him  almost  as  a  god,  and  made  him  their  lawgiver 
and  president.*  You  know  they  still  reverence  that 
great  man,  Him  that  was  crucified  in  Palestine  for 
introducing  these  new  doctrines  into  the  world.  On 
this  account  Proteus  was  apprehended  and  thrown  into 
prison,  which  very  thing  brought  him  no  small  renown 
for  the  future,  and  the  admiration  and  notoriety  which 
he  was  so  fond  of.  For,  during  the  time  that  he  was 
in  prison,  the  Christians,  looking  upon  it  as  a  general 
misfortune,  tried  every  means  to  get  him  released. 
Then,  when  this  was  found  impossible,  their  attention 
to  him  in  all  other  ways  was  zealous  and  unremitting. 
Prom  early  dawn  you  might  see  widows  and  orphans 
waiting  at  the  prison  -  doors  ;  and  the  men  of  rank 
among  them  even  bribed  the  jailors  to  allow  them  to 
pass  the  night  with  him  inside  the  walls.  Then  they 
brought  in  to  him  there  sumptuous  meals,  and  read 
their  sacred  books  together ;  and  this  good  Peregrinus 
(for  he  was  then  called  so)  was  termed  by  them  a  second 
Socrates.  There  came  certain  Christians,  too,  from 
some  of  the  cities  in  Asia,  deputed  by  their  community 
to  bring  him  aid,  and  to  counsel  and  encourage  him. 
For  they  are  wonderfully  ready  whenever  their  public 
interest  is  concerned — in  short,  they  grudge  nothing 
and  so  much  money  came  in  to  Peregrinus  at  that 

*  The   Greek  word   here  used  (vpoffrarrts)   possibly  means 
bishop.     St  Cyril  calls  St  Taul  and  St  Peter  by  that  name. 


LUC'IAN  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  171 

time,  by  reason  of  his  imprisonment,  that  he  made  a 
considerable  income  by  it.  For  these  poor  wretches 
persuade  themselves  that  they  shall  be  immortal,  and 
live  for  everlasting  ;  so  that  they  despise  death,  and 
some  of  them  offer  themselves  to  it  voluntarily.  Again, 
their  first  lawgiver  taught  them  that  they  were  all 
brothers,  when  once  they  had  committed  themselves 
so  far  as  to  renounce  the  gods  of  the  Greeks,  and  wor- 
ship that  crucified  sophist,  and  live  according  to  his 
laws.  So  they  hold  all  things  alike  in  contempt,  and 
consider  all  property  common,  trusting  each  other  in 
such  matters  without  any  valid  security.  If,  therefore, 
any  clever  impostor  came  among  them,  who  knew  how 
to  manage  matters,  he  very  soon  made  himself  a  rich 
man,  by  practising  on  the  credulity  of  these  simple 
people." 

We  have  in  this  passage  a  not  very  unfair  account 
of  the  discipline  and  practice  of  the  early  Christians, 
taking  into  consideration  that  it  is  given  by  a  cynical 
observer,  who  saw  in  this  new  phase  of  religion  only 
one  superstition  the  more.     There  is  an  evident  and 
not  unnatural  confusion  here  and  there  between  Chris- 
tians and  Jews  ;  and  it  is  not  clear  whether  the  "  first 
lawgiver"  is  a  vague  idea  of  Moses,  or  of   St  Paul, 
or  of  Christ  himself.    But  in  the  "  widows  "  we  plainly 
see  those  deaconesses,  or  whatever  we  may  term  them, 
of  whom  Phoebe  at  Cenchrea  was  one ;  the  "  sumptu- 
ous meals"  are  almost  certainly  the  "love-feasts"  of 
the  Church  ;  while  in  the  reading  of  the  sacred  books 
we  have  one  of   the  most  striking  features  of  their 
public  worship.     In  the  account  of  the  prison-life  of 


172  luc  i  an: 

Peregrinus,  impostor  if  he  were,  we  seem  to  be  reading 
but  another  version  of  that  of  St  Paul — of  the  "prayer 
that  was  made  of  the  Church  "  for  him — of  the  good 
Philemon  and  Onesiphorus,  who  "  ministered  to  him 
in  his  bonds,"  and  those  of  "  the  chief  of  Asia  who 
were  his  friends."  The  whole  passage,  brief  as  it  is, 
bears  token  of  having  been  penned  by  a  writer  who, 
if  not  acquainted  with  the  tenets  and  practices  of  the 
Christians  of  those  days  from  personal  observation  and 
experience,  had  at  least  gained  his  information  from 
some  fairly  accurate  source. 

Such  a  passage  was  sure  to  exercise  the  criticism 
of  Christian  scholars,  and  very  conflicting  theories 
have  been  set  up  as  to  its  interpretation,  as  bearing 
upon  the  author's  own  relations  and  feelings  towards 
Christianity.  Some  over-ingenious  speculators,  read- 
ing it  side  by  side  with  his  bitter  satire  on  the  accepted 
theology  of  Paganism,  have  fancied  that  they  saw  in  it 
evidence  that  Lucian  himself  was  a  Christian — in  dis- 
guise. That  after  boldly  and  openly  attacking  Poly- 
theism, and  exhibiting  it  in  the  most  grotesque  cari- 
cature, he  cautiously,  as  one  treading  on  perilous 
ground,  and  still  in  a  tone  of  half-banter,  opens  to 
his  readers  a  half-view  of  the  new  philosophy  whose 
ideal  republic  is  a  grander  scheme  than  Plato's — the 
"simple  people,"  the  leading  features  ot  whose  pol- 
ity are  "  universal  brotherhood  "  and  "  community  of 
goods." 

Such  a  view  was  tempting,  no  doubt,  to  a  clever 
scholar,  from  the  very  paradox  which  it  involved. 
Put,  except  as  a  paradox,  it  is  hard  to  conceive  its 


LUCIAN  AND   CHRISTIANITY.  173 

having  been  propounded.  It  was  much  more  natural 
to  take,  as  many  honest  theologians  did  take  and 
hotly  maintain,  quite  the  opposite  view  of  Lucian's 
feelings  towards  the  new  religion.  And  these  could 
certainly  produce  better  evidence  in  support  of  their 
opinion.  They  traced  in  the  sceptical  tone  of  his 
writings  the  voice  of  an  enemy  to  all  forms  of  reli- 
gion, true  as  well  as  false.  They  called  him  loudly 
"atheist"  and  "blasphemer."  Some  of  them  in- 
vented, and  probably  told  until  they  believed  it,  a 
story  of  his  having  met  his  death  by  being  torn 
in  pieces  by  dogs — as  such  impiety  well  deserved. 
And  one  —  Suidas — went  so  far  as  to  express  the 
charitable  hope  and  belief  that  his  punishment  did 
not  end  there,  but  is  still  proceeding.*  In  the 
passage  which  has  been  here  quoted,  they  saw  a 
sneer  at  the  holiest  mysteries.  Yet  surely  no 
such  interpretation  is  self-evident  to  any  candid 
reader.  It  is  a  cold,  unimpassioned  statement ;  half 
serious  and  half  satiric,  as  is  Lucian's  wont ;  but 
neither  prejudiced  nor  malicious.  We  have  nothing 
here  like  the  bitterness  of  Fronto  or  Celsus,  or  the 
stern  anathema  which  Tacitus,  ranking  Christianity 
among  other  hated  introductions  from  the  East,  hurls 
against  it  as  an  "execrable  superstition."  The  tenets 
of  this  obscure  sect  did  seem  to  Lucian — the  man  of  the 

*  Suidas  shall  express  himself  in  his  own  Latin,  and  if  any 
English  reader  does  not  understand  him,  he  will  have  no  great 
loss:  "Quare  et  rabiei  istius  poenas  sufficientes  in  praesenti 
vita  dedit,  et  in  futurum  hferes  sterni  ignis  una  cum  Satana 
erit." — Life  of  Lucian,  prefixed  to  Zuinger's  edit.,  1602. 


174  LUCIAN. 

world — "  extraordinary  ; "  nothing  more  or  less,  what- 
ever irony  some  may  find  in  the  word.  Even  the  term 
"  crucified  sophist,"  however  offensive  to  our  ears, 
had  nothing  necessarily  offensive  as  used  by  the 
writer.  The  clever  Greek  has  no  special  sympathy 
with  the  "simple  people"  who  were  content  with  bad 
security  for  their  money,  and  proved  such  an  easy 
prey  to  any  designing  adventurer ;  but  all  his  con- 
tempt and  wrath  is  reserved  for  the  impostor  who 
cheated  them.  On  him,  and  not  on  the  Christians, 
he  pours  it  out  unsparingly.  Here  is  his  account 
of  Peregrinus's  last  moments.  The  great  games  were 
over,  but  the  crowd  still  lingered  at  Olympia  to  see 
the  promised  spectacle.  It  was  deferred  from  night 
to  night,  but  at  last  an  hour  was  appointed.  At- 
tended by  a  troop  of  friends  and  admirers  (a  criminal 
going  to  execution,  says  the  merciless  narrator,  has 
usually  a  long  train),  Peregrinus  approached  the  pile, 
which  had  been  prepared  near  the  Hippodrome. 

"  Then  the  more  foolish  among  the  crowd  shouted, 
'  Live,  for  the  sake  of  the  Greeks  ! '  But  the  more 
hard-hearted  cried,  '  Fulfil  your  promise  ! '  At  this 
the  old  man  was  not  a  little  put  out,  for  he  had 
expected  that  they  Avould  surely  all  lay  hold  on 
him,  and  not  let  him  get  into  the  firj,  but  force 
him  to  live  against  his  will.  But  this  exhortation 
to  '  keep  his  promise  '  fell  on  him  quite  unex- 
pectedly, and  made  him  paler  than  ever,  though  his 
colour  looked  like  death  before.  He  trembled,  and 
became  silent.  .  .  .  When  the  moon  rose  (for 
she,  too,  must   needs   look    upon   this   grand   sight) 


LUCIA N  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  175 

he  came  forward,  clad  in  his  usual  dress,  and  followed 
hy  his  train  of  Cynics,  and  specially  the  notorious 
Theagenes  of  Patras,  well  fitted  to  play  second  in 
such  a  performance.  Peregrinus,  too,  carried  a  torch  ; 
and  approaching  the  pile — a  very  large  one,  made 
up  of  pitch-pine  and  brushwood — they  lighted  it  at 
either  end.  Then  the  hero  (mark  what  I  say)  laid 
down  his  scrip  and  his  cloak,  and  the  Herculean 
club  he  -used  to  carry,  and  stood  in  his  under  gar- 
ment— and  very  dirty  it  was.  He  next  asked  for 
frankincense  to  cast  .on  the  fire  ;  and  when  some  one 
brought  it,  he  threw  it  on,  and  turning  his  face  to- 
wards the  south  (this  turning  towards  the  south  is 
an  important  point  in  the  performance)  he  exclaimed, 
'  Shades  of  my  father  and  my  mother,  be  propitious, 
and  receive  me  ! '  "When  he  had  said  this,  he  leaped 
into  the  burning  pile  and  was  seen  no  more,  the  flames 
rising  high  and  enveloping  him  at  once." 

Lucian  goes  on  to  say,  that  when  the  followers  of 
Peregrinus  stood  round  weeping  and  lamenting,  he 
could  not  resist  some  jokes  at  their  expense,  which 
very  nearly  cost  him  a  beating.  On  his  way  home 
he  met  several  persons  who  were  too  late  for  the 
sight ;  and  when  they  begged  him  to  give  them  an 
account  of  it,  he  added  to  the  story  a  few  touches 
of  his  own  :  how  the  earth  shook,  and  how  a  vulture* 
was  seen  soaring  out  of  the  flames,  and  crying,  "  I 
have  left   earth,  and   mount   to    Olympus  ! "     These 

*  The  vulture  among  birds  was  the  general  scavenger,  as  the 
dog  among  Leasts  ;  and  Lucian  perhaps  imagines  the  soul  of 
he  Cynic  naturally  taking  that  form. 


176  LUCIA  X. 

little  embellishments  of  the  fact  were,  as  he  assures 
his  friend,  repeated  afterwards  as  integral  parts  of  the 
story.  Some  time  afterwards  he  had  met  "  a  grey- 
haired  old  man,  whose  beard  and  venerable  aspect 
might  have  seemed  to  bespeak  a  trustworthy  witness," 
who  solemnly  declared  that  he  had  seen  Proteus  after 
his  burning,  "  all  in  white,  wearing  a  crown  of  olive  ;  " 
nay,  that  he  had  not  long  ago  left  him  "  alive  and 
cheerful,  walking  in  the  Hall  of  the  Seven  Echoes." 

This  portion  of  the  narrative  has  also  given  rise 
to  considerable  discussion.  Those  who  could  see  in 
Lucian  nothing  but  a  scoffer,  asserted  that  the  whole 
story  was  fictitious,  and  that  his  sole  intention  was  to 
ridicule  and  caricature  the  deaths  of  Christian  martyrs. 
They  noted  in  this  account  of  the  last  moments  of 
Peregrinus  many  circumstances  apparently  borrowed 
from  the  deaths  of  the  famous  martyrs  of  the  times. 
The  previous  attempts  at  rescue  and  the  bribing  of  the 
jailors  have  their  exact  parallels  in  the  case  of  Igna- 
tius, and  the  Christians  in  their  dreams  saw  him 
walking  about  in  a  glorified  shape  ;  the  "  olive-crown  " 
might  be  an  embodiment  of  that  "  crown  of  victory  " 
of  which  he  spoke  at  his  death,  or  "the  crown  of 
immortality "  which  Polycarp  saw  before  him ;  the 
stripping  and  "  standing  in  the  under  garment  only"  is 
related  of  Cyprian  at  his  martyrdom ;  and  Lucian's 
vulture  seems  but  a  parody  of  the  dove  which  the 
imaginative  piety  of  Christian  legend  saw  rising  from 
the  funeral-pile  of  Polycarp.*    The  very  year  (a.d.  1G5) 

*  The  dove  is  omitted  in  the  account  given  by  Eusehius. 


LUCIAN  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  177 

of  Polycarp's  death,  which  we  are  distinctly  told  "  was 
discussed  everywhere  among  the  heathen,"  seems  pos- 
sibly to  correspond.  Bishop  Pearson  appears  to  have 
considered  the  whole  account  as  nothing  more  than 
a  kind  of  travesty  of  the  martyrdom  of  Ignatius,  and 
in  this  idea  he  has  been  followed  by  many  German 
scholars.  It  has  been  conjectured  that  possibly  Lucian 
may  have  intended  to  satirise  the  contempt  of  death 
which  he  speaks  of  as  a  characteristic  of  the  Christian 
sect,  and  that  positive  desire  for  martyrdom  which  we 
know  from  other  authorities  to  have  prevailed  among 
some  of  them  to  a  morbid  degree,  as  a  new  development 
of  cynicism. 

But  there  seems  no  good  reason  to  doubt  the  main 
accuracy  of  the  account  given  by  Lucian,  or  to  attribute 
to  him  any  sinister  motive  in  telling  the  story  as  he  does. 
The  extraordinary  fact  of  this  self-immolation  of  Pere- 
grinus  is  related,  though  briefly,  by  Christian  writers 
— by  Tatian,  Tertullian,  and  Eusebius.  Aulus  Gellius, 
indeed,  speaks  of  having  known  him  in  his  earlier 
life,  as  living  in  a  cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  Athens, 
"  a  grave  and  earnest  man,"  to  whose  wise  discourse  he 
had  often  listened  with  much  pleasure.  But  a  consum- 
mate impostor  such  as  Lucian  describes  may  well  have 
succeeded  in  imposing  upon  the  Roman  antiquarian 
as  upon  the  officers  of  the  Christian  Church.*    He  had 

*  See  Noct.  Att.,  xii.  11.  Wieland,  all  whose  remarks  on 
Lucian  deserve  respect,  thought  his  portrait  of  Peregrinus  mani- 
festly unfair,  and  wrote  a  kind  of  novelette,  cast  in  the  form 
of  a  Dialogue  between  Lucian  and  Peregrinus  in  Elysium,  in 
which  the  latter  gives  a  very  different  account  of  his  life  from 
a.  c.  vol.  xviii.  m 


178  LUCIA  If. 

probably",  as  Eusebius  relates  of  him,  joined  tbat  com- 
munity for  a  time,  most  likely  for  bis  own  ends,  though 
he  may  not  have  held  the  high  position  among  them 
which  is  here  ascribed  to  him.  On  the  motives  which 
led  him  to  the  extraordinary  act  which  closed  his  life, 
Lucian  must  have  had  better  opportunities  of  judging 
than  are  open  to  us  ;  and  he  plainly  considers  that  he 
Avas  actuated  at  first  by  a  fanatical  desire  for  notoriety, 
and  possibly  forced  at  the  last  to  carry  out  his  announce- 
ment against  his  will.  It  might  have  required  more 
courage  to  draw  back,  in  the  face  of  public  ridicule  and 
certain  exposure,  than  to  brave  death  amidst  the  ap- 
plause of  the  crowd. 

The  abuse  showered  upon  Lucian  by  Christian 
writers  as  a  "blasphemer"  and  an  "Antichrist"  is 
due  partly  to  his  having  had  ascribed  to  him  a  Dia- 
logue called  "  Philopatris,"  in  Avhich  the  Christians  are 
maliciously  accused  of  prophesying  misfortunes  to  the 
state,  and  which  bears  internal  evidence  of  having 
been  written  by  one  who  had  been  at  some  period  a 
member  of  a  Christian  Church.  As  the  author  of  this, 
they  charged  him  Avith  Avorse  than  infidelity — apostasy 
from  the  faith,  and  treason  to  his  former  associates. 
But  it  has  been  pretty  clearly  proved  that  this  Avork  is 
of  much  later  date,  and  could  not  possibly  have  come 
from  the  hand  of  Lucian.  It  is  true  that  in  his  ac- 
count of  the  pseudo-prophet  Alexander,  the  only  other 
occasion  on  Avhich  he  mentions  the  Christians  by  name, 

the  version  here  presented  to  us.  There  is  a  good  notice  of  this 
little  work  of  Wieland's  in  W.  Taylor's  'Historic  Survey  of 
German  Poetry,'  ii.  482. 


LUCI AN  AND  CHRISTIANITY.  179 

he  has  classed  them  with  "  atheists  and  Epicureans  ;"  * 
hut  this  is  only  so  far  as  to  show  that  they  were  all 
equally  incredulous  of  the  pretended  miracles  of  that 
impostor. 

Of  the  new  Kingdom  which  had  risen  Lucian  had 
in  fact  no  conception.  What  opportunities  he  may 
have  had,  or  may  have  missed,  of  making  acquaintance 
with  it,  we  cannot  tell.  Its  silent  growth  seems  to 
have  heen  little  noted  hy  him.  The  contempt  for 
death  and  indifference  to  riches  professed  hy  this  new 
sect  would  seem  to  him  only  echoes  of  what  he  had 
long  heard  from  the  lips  of  those  Stoic  and  Cynic  pre- 
tenders whom  he  had  made  it  his  special  business  to 
unmask  ;  the  vagrant  preachers  of  this  new  faith,  sup- 
ported hy  contributions,  were  confounded  by  him  with 
the  half-mendicant  professors  of  philosophy  whom  he 
had  known  too  well.  He  did  not  care  enough  about 
the  Christians  to  hate  them  much.  Their  refusal  to 
sacrifice  to  the  national  idols — the  great  testing-point 
of  their  martyrs  under  the  reigning  emperors — could 
have  been  no  great  crime  in  the  eyes  of  the  author  of 
the  "  Dialogues  of  the  Gods."  Fanaticism  in  that 
direction  was  no  worse  than  fanaticism  in  the  other. 
His  chief  attention  seems  to  have  been  concen- 
trated on  that  remarkable  revival  of  paganism  which 
began  under  Hadrian  and  the  Anton ines,  against 
which  he  protests  with  all  the  force  of  a  keen 
intellect  and  a  biting  wit.  Eut,  far  from  being  the 
enemy  of  Christianity,  he  was,  however  unintentionally 

*  "Alexander,"  38. 


180  LUCIA  N. 

and  unconsciously,  one  of  its  most  active  allies.  He 
fought  its  battle  on  a  totally  different  ground  from  its 
own  apologists,  and  would  have  been  astonished  to 
know  that  he  was  fighting  it  at  all ;  but  he  was  weak- 
ening the  common  enemy.  He  did  the  same  service 
to  the  advancing  forces  of  Christianity  as  the  explo- 
sion of  a  mine  does  to  the  storming  party  who  are 
waiting  in  the  trenches  :  he  blew  into  ruins  the  forti- 
fications of  pagan  superstition,  already  grievously 
shaken.  He  did  not  know  who  was  to  enter  in  at 
the  breach ;  but  he  had  a  strong  conviction  that  the 
old  stronghold  of  falsehood  ought  at  any  cost  not  to 
stand. 


BND  OF  LUCIAN. 


University  01  California  Los  Angeles 


L  007  586  996  6 


mi 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY^ 

ii  iii  inn 


AA    000  414  463    o 


L---^ 

f^yU.W.  WKM'II.  ^ 

"  Bookseller  &  Stationer.  ' 
tK    San  .lose.  (ill.    Ai 


